


The Last Goodbye

by Glass_Oceans



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Divergent, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Female Characters - Freeform, Original Male Characters - Freeform, canonverse, crime noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-05 19:33:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16817029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Oceans/pseuds/Glass_Oceans
Summary: Private Detective Ben Solo is down on his luck. With the bills piling up, he’s hard pressed to give a damn, until a gorgeous blonde walks in his door with more money than sense and what looks like an open and shut case. But Ben didn’t bet on the amount of trouble she brought with her, or that it would end up dragging him down...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Kylux Big Bang 2018, with art done by the amazing [Sirinstree](https://sirinstree.tumblr.com/)!

Ben sighed, but it did little to push the muggy air from his lungs. He looked over his desk again—and the pile of unopened mail by the door—and felt the air grow heavier. Napping was not a thing that would solve any of his issues, but he couldn’t find the interest to do anything else. Sweeping aside data chips of cases he had deemed to small or uninteresting to take, he swung his boots onto the tabletop and settled back in his chair. As he was getting comfortable, a datapad chimed. He waved a hand vaguely in its direction, sweeping it from the table and silencing it as it hit the floor. He sighed again, pulling his vintage officer’s cap down over his eyes, ready to ignore the world for a few hours. 

The world, however, was not ready to ignore him and a new chime had him glaring at it balefully from under his cap. A small light blinked in time with the chime, one that he couldn’t ignore. He pushed through the mess still remaining on his desk until he had another datapad in hand. This one he had removed from the network; it showed only a series of feeds from the cameras he had set up at the entry and approach to his office. He knew from bitter experience that it wasn’t only debtors who came calling, and while it was unlikely that they would ever gain the upper hand—not with his natural advantages—he would still take every edge he could get. 

So, he was surprised to see not a thug coming to extort money or swift-moving enforcers arriving to make a point, but an extremely well-dressed woman. Ben felt his eyebrows rise as he watched her ascend the stairs, one edge of her dress held lightly in a gloved hand to allow her to climb gracefully but in no hurry. The stairs were archaic in this day and age, but Ben had chosen this office for a reason. Quickly, he called up another program, running an undetectable scan over the woman as she continued her climb. It came back negative, no detectable weapons on her person. 

Ben felt his mouth quirk up in a smile as she came to the last landing before his door. Already she was a puzzle with no easy answers, and he could feel his earlier disinterest fading away. He knocked the cap from his head, sweeping a hand through his hair; with a little luck he could charm her and pull a little more information from her that way. He turned off the datapad, sitting back in his chair, boots still on the table, and waited for her to arrive. The door lock disengaged as she raised her hand to knock, but she seemed unsurprised by the action, pressing her fingertips to the door to push it open so she could breeze inside. 

She was even more stunning than the cameras had shown. She was wearing a shimmering gown that fell to the ground like liquid silver—something more commonly seen at an ambassador’s reception than in the slums of Darropolis. The gloves covering her hands looked as thin as flimsi—no doubt costing more than the sum of his possessions—but when he saw the crystal vulptex stole she wore around her shoulders, he began to wonder why she had come to him. A woman who could afford one of those could afford a much higher class of detective, and certainly one who would come to her. Her platinum blonde hair was cut in a short bob and was unadorned, framing her pale blue eyes and drawing attention to the bright red of her lips, the only deviation from her costume. Those same lips twitched at the corners, as if she knew how Ben had been measuring and assessing her, and had allowed him time to do so before she spoke. 

“Is this the office of Ben Solo?”

“Depends who’s asking,” Ben responded, out of habit. 

She smiled at him and turned to close the door behind her, again barely touching the frame. Ben reached out towards her with his extra senses, but still could find no intention in her beyond that of a customer looking to hire. 

“My name is Phasma,” she said as she turned around. “Kareen Phasma.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Ben replied, an imitation of his father’s lopsided grin on his face. 

Kareen turned away from him and began looking about the office, leaving Ben blinking in surprise. “I understand that you take cases to investigate matters that would usually be better left undiscovered.”

“On occasion,” Ben said, finally swinging his legs down from the desk to watch as she walked about the room. 

Kareen stopped in front of Ben’s display case: a simple glass affair that held an assortment of knick knacks and trinkets that he had collected from various places as he travelled. Kareen studied the case as if fascinated by the contents. 

“And what might persuade you that this was an occasion worth investing?”

“Why don’t you tell me a little about your case,” Ben said, “and then I’ll let you know if I’m available.”

Kareen twisted around to direct her gaze over the many data chips scattered about his office, raising a perfectly manicured brow as she did so. Ben could feel his cheeks beginning to heat, feeling that she could tell just how many of them were demands rather than requests. He resisted the urge to defend himself that rose up in his throat, but before he could make a sound, she completed her turn, graceful as a dancer and began to speak. 

“I don’t know if you keep up with current affairs, but I imagine for a man in your profession it would almost be a requirement,” she began, drawing her stole tightly around her so that the crystalline fur chimed gently. “But three days ago, Brendol Hux, CEO of First Order Incorporated, was found dead in his home on Arkanis.”

Ben nodded. “I saw the news.”

“What the reporters may not have mentioned is that his death was not natural. Brendol was in good health, and so was his wife, who was found dead in the very same room.”

Ben said nothing, waiting for Kareen to provide more of the story. She turned her head to look back over his cabinet, seemingly finding it easier to address than him. 

“Nor did they mention that his illegitimate son now stands to inherit everything: his manor, his company, and every credit.”

Ben felt a smirk coming to his face. “Murder-suicides aren’t uncommon if someone has been fooling around,” he said. “This all seems very straightforward to me.”

Ben knew he’d said the wrong thing as Kareen turned from the cabinet to fix him with a disappointed look. 

“Do you truly believe I would be here if things were that simple?”

Ben dropped his eyes away and he heard Kareen move across his office floor, taking a seat in the only other chair. Ben looked up as she was arranging the drape of her dress across her crossed legs, noting that she wore boots beneath the dress instead of dainty shoes. Smoothing out non-existing creases in the dress’s folds, she addressed Ben once again: 

“You haven’t asked me about my connection to Mr. Hux.”

Ben felt like he was being schooled, and could feel resentment beginning to build. There was still something about her that intrigued him, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. 

“Well?”

Kareen continued to smile at him, her hands folded across her knees. Ben tamped down a surge of annoyance, but huffed as he asked:“What is your connection to the deceased?”

“Brendol Hux was my mentor,” Kareen replied. “He discovered me—rescued me, if you will—and taught me almost everything I know.”

“And this illegitimate son, he’s yours?”

Kareen laughed at that, a high tinkling sound like silver bells that matched her dress perfectly.  
“Stars, no,” she said. “The boy and I are almost of an age. But he gave me a position in his company, one that allowed me to prove my worth by working up the ranks.”

Ben felt his eyes flicker to her vulptex stole before he returned his attention to her. 

“What was your involvement with his company?” Ben asked. 

“Security, mainly,” Kareen said, shifting in the chair, growing restless. “Also training others up in kind. Brendol always said I had a way with the new recruits.”

Kareen got up from the chair and crossed to Ben’s cabinet again. He got the impression that she would have begun pacing had the office been a little bigger. Perhaps he should have offered her a drink when she first arrived, to help her settle: a caf, or something stronger from the bottom drawer of his desk—something that would have had her licking her lips, so she wouldn’t notice when he brushed against her mind. 

“To draw to the point, Mr Solo, I stood to take over a great deal of First Order, Inc. upon Brendol’s passing, but that was not expected for quite some time. He had a physical health check conducted every year, and was in perfect health for a man of his age. That he should die so suddenly, and his bastard appear from nowhere to take what is rightfully mine—”

Kareen stopped, and Ben could see her shoulders rising rapidly, the flush in her cheeks heightening as she sought to regain control. As the colour faded, she reached one hand steadily into the cabinet, picking up a gleaming kelsh figurine. The bronze-coloured metal stood out starkly against her glove, but she held it tight as she turned and stepped in front of Ben’s desk. 

“I want to know what happened,” she said. She set the figure down on the desk, its face towards Ben, one hand held up imploringly. “I want to know what he did, and how.”

Ben stared at the figuring as Kareen reached into a hidden pocket in her dress, pulling out two data chips that she placed carefully down on either side of the kelsh owl. 

“This,” she said, pointing to the chip to the doll’s left, “has everything I know about the situation, minus any sensitive information about the First Order, which would give you an unfair advantage if you decided to engage in stock market trading during our difficult times. And this”—she pointed to the second chip—“has enough credit loaded to cover any expenses you might incur in your investigation. Also details for how you can contact me should you discover anything useful.”

Ben finally tore his eyes away from the ornament, trying to summon up his confidence as he looked at Kareen. 

“I still haven’t agreed to take on the case yet.”

“Why, Mr. Solo,” she said, “I didn’t realise you had a reputation for saying no to a pretty face.”

Ben leaned forward in his chair, putting on his best roguish smile. “Then let me take you out for dinner and we can discuss things further.”

“Find me some information, and we can discuss anything you like.”

Ben sat back as Phasma turned and moved towards the door. “I look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Solo.”

He heard her boots click once, twice before the door slid shut behind her, and then she was gone. Ben didn’t bother to check the feeds to make sure she’d left the area; she had no reason to hang around. Besides, his attention was still fixed on the kelsh owl, sitting between the data chips Kareen had left behind. 

Slowly, tentatively, Ben reached out for it. His hand hovered over it for long seconds before he finally snatched it up. In his hand it was just a simple lump of shiny metal, a crudely formed doll, left impeccable by Kareen’s gloves but becoming smeared by Ben’s fingerprints. He glanced up at the shelving unit. It was far from being the only kelsh piece in his collection, far from unique, not something that would draw the eye unless someone was looking for it in particular. 

Ben narrowed his eyes at the small figure. She couldn’t have known. There was no way she should have known about that. Only his family knew about it; the newsreels had stayed silent on the subject, no matter how many times Ben had checked over the following years. He hadn’t looked it up in a long time now—trying to put even the memory behind him—but perhaps… Han Solo. He might know. He’d been involved in covering—in clearing things up. It wouldn’t hurt to check in with him. After all, Ben had been meaning to catch up with him. It’d do no harm to cover both matters at once. 

Picking up one of his datapads, Ben opened a secure channel and typed out a quick message, asking to meet his father for drinks, dropping in a few coded words that only they knew. Hitting send, he set down the doll and reached for the data chips. First, he checked the credit chip, his eyebrows rising when he saw the amount already loaded there and whistling in appreciation at the extended line of credit that Kareen had set up for him. If she still had access to this much funding, he couldn’t see why she needed to inherit First Order, Inc. so badly, but it was her money to waste. He sent some of the money through his chain of accounts, routing it so thoroughly through backwater planets and currency exchanges that trying to get it back would be more hassle that it was worth. He’d learned that lesson before. Then he picked up the second chip, tossing it in his hand. Time to get to work.


	2. Chapter 2

With the credit chip carefully stowed in his wallet, Ben engaged the information chip and began his own research. Like with everything else in this office, he had a specially set up network that allowed him to view his own files and begin his own searches, all without being vulnerable to viewing from outside networks. He settled back to read the data, half wishing he had a fresh caf to go with it. 

The information Kareen had assembled was disappointingly basic. He understood that she was in some ways a typical corporate drone, however high powered, and wouldn’t be willing to hand over corporate information to him on a first meeting. But the files she had left with Ben were little better than he could have obtained himself without much bother: newsfeeds, basic data files on Brendol and his wife, a file that amounted to Kareen’s own work history and a smaller file again on the illegitimate son, Armitage. It seemed Armitage truly was the black sheep of the family before this take over; even the search terms Ben threw out garnered him little apart from an up-to-date picture. 

It captured Ben’s attention. Dressed it cutting-edge fashion, Armitage wore a suit that was almost military in its severe cut, emphasizing how tall he was while still being slight of body. But only a fool would mistake him for being weak. His hair was parted off-centre and swept neatly away from his brow, revealing hard jade-green eyes. His expression read as unforgiving; nothing would be taken from him. Looking at his image, Ben could believe that the man took everything he wanted, even if that included his own father’s life. 

Saving the picture on his chips, Ben shook himself and turned back to his research. His mouth curled sourly when the initial results were nothing of great interest. There was still nothing on Armitage, and Kareen herself appeared in only those few business reports that confirmed her position and story—at least on the surface. He was going to have to dig deeper sooner than he liked, and that meant—

Ben paused, looking about his office. Nothing was out of place but something still felt wrong. He closed down the datapad in his hands, withdrawing the data chip, but the feeling remained. Though his training at the temple had been cut short, Ben still knew enough to trust these intuitions, even if he couldn’t follow them to their conclusion. He set up his office’s security protocol: data stream sweeps that would run through his office every couple of seconds, tracing everyone who had been nearby as well as any data trackers that might be running from his own office. Satisfied, he stood from the desk, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, and left. 

His office was only a short walk from the spaceport where he kept his shuttle, an added bonus when he rented the property. He passed plenty of dark alleys and dingy cantinas; sometimes they were perfect for the kind of image he wanted to present, and sometimes he called on those few tricks he had learned from his uncle and directed people’s attention away from himself—so he could pass by unnoticed and unmolested. 

The ramp of Ben’s shuttle lowered as he approached and he hit the panel for it to withdraw and close as he was taking the last couple of steps into the shuttle proper. He took off his jacket again, slinging it across the back of the co-pilot seat, sliding into the pilot’s chair and warming the engine up. This shuttle felt more like home than his apartment did, and it sometimes seemed like he spent more time here than he did in his own place. He liked being able to move, not being tied down to any one place. He thought sometimes that he’d conduct his business from here if he he could get away with it, but then he would have to bring his hookups here, and he preferred the impersonal, minimally decorated apartment. No, this space was his alone.

Already running through his pre-flight procedures, he pulled up the address of First Order, Inc.’s head office on Hosnian Prime, calling for an appointment to speak to their head honcho as his shuttle began to rise up from the ground. The person he spoke to sounded dismissive, but after dropping Kareen’s name and the nature of his call, an appointment magically became free and Ben cut the call with a wink and a smile as he jumped into hyperspace. 

The largest planet of the Hosnian system filled Ben’s viewscreen as the stars resolved once more to flickering dots of colour. He took control of the shuttle, nudging it towards the lanes of traffic waiting to descend to the surface of Hosnian Prime. He had always preferred doing this part himself, no matter that he had programmed his shuttle’s AI himself. It gave him a sense for the world around him, or, in the case of the Hosnian system, it quieted some of the chatter for the many crowded worlds that orbited here. 

So, he focused on the landing procedures, only a little surprised to receive a priority clearance, allowing him to skip the queues and descend to a private landing pad only a short distance from the arching towers of First Order, Inc. He contemplated leaving his jacket in the shuttle as the door opened to admit the temperate air of Hosnian Prime: early summer on this part of the planet. As the shuttle closed behind him, a uniformed man stepped forward. 

“Mr. Solo?” he asked. 

Ben frowned at the man, suspicion making him aware of the man’s distance from him and the pressure of his blaster in its holster. 

“Who’s asking?”

“I’m to bring you to your meeting with Director Mitaka, sir,” the man said, gesturing towards a sleek and expensive speeder behind him. “If you could come with me?”

Ben was tempted to refuse, to make his own slow way towards the office, where he could make Mitaka wait and become impatient; people who were annoyed spilled details so much easier than people who were calm and collected. His usual mode of operation involved his finding the “back door” of the office and the employees who had snuck out for a quick break. Though he didn’t smoke himself, he kept a pack of cigarras in his jacket for just this reason; friends and gossip were easily bought that way. Accepting the lift would deny him these opportunities, but looking past the driver to the speeder—top of its line, jet black and so sleek the light danced around it— but he was tempted. 

“All right,” Ben said as he sauntered towards the speeder, ignoring the driver’s pride and smugness. Ben couldn’t deny that the vehicle was immaculate, it looked like the driver took better care of it that he would his own child, and he was preening to see another person appreciate it like Ben did. The speeder glided through the sky soundlessly, cutting a path upwards that left all other vehicles waiting for it to pass, making Ben wonder about the strings that were being pulled for him as the passing air ruffled his hair. 

The speeder came to a stop at a personal landing pad, which emerged from near the top of the spire that was First Order’s head office. Ben hopped from the speeder, patting its door fondly as he smiled his thanks to the driver. The man nodded to him, the speeder already taking off again before Ben had fully turned around. A short distance away, Ben saw a dark-haired man waiting at the exit of the landing pad, his dark hair severely styled and affected not at all by the wind at this altitude. 

“Mr. Solo?” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “I’m Director Mitaka, though you’re welcome to call me Dopheld.”

“Ben Solo. Ben.”

Dopheld nodded and gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

Ben followed Dopheld into a small lobby: sparsely decorated with a couple of low chairs that were as drab as the carpet beneath his feet. A few pieces of artwork on the walls had been hung, pieces in shades of blue and grey suspended on the glass walls, that seemed to have been chosen to accentuate and draw attention to just how high the office stood above the clouds. A short distance beyond were doors to several offices, and Dopheld led them straight through to the middle door—and the largest office—moving to take a seat at his desk and gesturing for Ben to take a seat at the other side. 

“Can I offer you a drink?” Dopheld asked, folding his hands across his stomach. 

“Just water,” Ben said, starting to feel impatient himself and disliking the feeling. 

Dopheld selected a setting from his desk display, leaning back and smiling pleasantly as he waited. A moment later, one of the side office doors opened to reveal a young man with blond hair carrying a silver tray laden with several sealed bottles of water and a set of glasses. He set the tray down between them, looking at Ben with interest.

“Thank you, Thanisson. That’ll be all.”

Thanisson looked back to Dopheld and ducked his head, retreating back to his office. Dopheld reached forward and plucked a bottle from the tray, twisting its cap and pouring for himself. Ben found it hard not to scoff when faced with the selection; Hosnian still had far more natural resources than Coruscant and yet every bottle in front of him was imported from out of system. With an effort to keep the frown from forming on his face, he selected a bottle of Hoth ice water, cracking the seal and drinking directly from the bottle. 

“So, Mr. Solo— _Ben_ —what can we help you with?”

Ben set the bottle back on the table surface rather than the tray, idly watching the condensation drip down the sides. 

“I was hoping to speak to someone regarding your recent change in management,” he said. 

“Our…?”

“Your new CEO,” Ben clarified. 

“I didn’t realise that standard business practice came under your purview,” Dopheld said with a chuckle. 

“It’s the manner of that business that concerns me,” Ben said, irritation starting to crawl under his skin. He tried to breathe gently and inconspicuously to calm himself. 

“I’m sorry, Ben,” Dopheld said, sitting forward and placing his hands on the desk. “Perhaps you could explain to me more clearly what concerns you.”

Ben held Dopheld’s gaze as he chose his next words. He was aware that he was starting to grind his teeth and forced his jaw to relax. 

“After all, I’m not involved with law enforcement myself, I don’t know what terms you chaps use,” Dopheld said, taking another sip from his glass and sitting back, pleased with his own humour. 

Anger flared in Ben, and he looked away as he fought to keep his emotions under control. He’d thought Dopheld soft, too soft for a businessman, but his condescension was practiced, and it was succeeding in putting him off his game. 

“The appointment of your new CEO,” Ben said, too aware of how tense his voice sounded. “I understand that there was a change in the appointment at the last moment?”

“No?” Dopheld replied, confusion on his open face. “It has always been a family business. It’s been destined to go from father to son, and I have to say, the transition was flawless given the circumstances.”

“There were ‘circumstances’?” 

“Come now, Ben,” Dopheld replied. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t at least aware of the news stories.”

Ben sighed heavily. He was coming to rapidly dislike the man seated opposite him. 

“So, your vice president wasn’t even in line for the top position?”

“Phasma?” Dopheld said. “Not that I was aware. Though my dealings with Brendol were strictly regarding his business here on Hosnian Prime. I didn’t question any appointments above mine.”

Ben leaned back in his chair, thinking over what Kareen had said compared to what Dopheld was claiming now. Something was very clearly not making sense.

“Was it Phasma who sent you here?” Dopheld asked quietly. 

“I can’t divulge the identity of my clients,” Ben responded by rote. 

Dopheld nodded, though his smile was knowing. 

“She and Armitage have never gotten along well, really,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there had been some misunderstanding.”

“Assumption is the mother of all kriff-ups,” Ben muttered. 

“Indeed,” Dopheld agreed. 

Ben caught his lip between his teeth as he thought and Dopheld thankfully gave him the silence to do so. 

“If I wanted to check up on Brendol’s files, could I do so?” Ben asked.

“Certainly,” Dopheld said, brightening considerably. “Though I’m afraid we don’t maintain any copies at this office. You would have to visit his old office on Coruscant.”

“Coruscant?” Ben said with some confusion. 

“Brendol was of the old guard,” Dopheld said with a smile, his eyes taking on a far off look as he became lost in memories. “He never really let go of the old home of the Senate and believed in conducting his business from there.”

“And this office?”

“This will be our new head office,” Dopheld replied with a proud smile. “We’re in the process of finishing up on Coruscant and transferring our clients here, though we still have enough of a presence there that we’ll be able to help you out.”

Ben took the opportunity to disengage and pushed himself up from his chair. Dopheld did the same, though he stayed behind his desk. 

“I can call ahead and arrange an appointment for you, if you like,” Dopheld said.

Ben hesitated. If the Coruscant office was an older establishment, it would be even better to pick up gossip, especially if there were employees who were upset with the closing down of their jobs. But at the same time, he couldn’t say no. If he did, Dopheld would likely call ahead anyway and his advantage would still be gone. 

“Thank you,” Ben said with a nod. “And thank you for your time.”

“My pleasure,” Dopheld said, once more shaking Ben’s hand. “And if there’s anything else I can help you with, please don’t hesitate to call.”

Ben smiled tightly and turned to leave. As he passed the side offices, he tried to peer in the open door of what he presumed was Thanisson’s office, but it was empty. With nothing else to keep him, he crossed to the elevator and descended to exit the building from the ground—opposite of how he had arrived. 

His mind was churning as he crossed the smooth flagstones of the plaza outside the First Order tower. Nothing about this situation made sense. A lackey far further down the chain could have given him all the useless information that Dopheld had served up, and yet his meeting had been with the director of their Hosnian business himself. He regretted not being able to find Thanisson in his office; he had a feeling that he’d had something to tell Ben, even if it was just where his own apartment was. 

Feeling unsettled, Ben came quickly to his shuttle, the tension only sliding from his shoulders when the ramp was firmly closed behind him, encasing him in the shuttle’s familiar darkness. He slumped into his pilot’s chair, bringing the shuttle to life. Still no reply from his father, but he couldn’t really be surprised at that. No matter what time zone he was in, he was likely sleeping off a hangover anyway. Ben would have messaged Chewie if he wanted a quick answer. 

He lifted off, finding the same high-priority window awaiting him, so he broke atmosphere and was idling above the planet as he keyed in his next set of coordinates. He stared down at the shadow travelling across the planet as it turned towards night, feeling his unease grow as he waited. He reached forward, ready to send his ship forward, when the whole shuttle juddered, and outside the viewport was a pale blue glow that seemed to cover the shuttle whole. 

Ben cursed, craning to try and catch a glimpse of the no-doubt larger ship, but whoever they were, they were well-positioned and he could discern no clues. With another shudder, the ship began to move, and Ben shot up from his seat, pulling his blaster from its holster as he moved. At an inconspicuous wall panel just away from the pilot's seat, he hit a hidden release, pulling out a second blaster, which he shoved into his belt, and a third for his other hand. Beyond the ship he could hear the noise of an airlock closing, and braced himself for the rattle as his shuttle was set down. 

A quick glance back into the cockpit confirmed that they had cut all power to his ship, and there was nothing he’d be able to do to prevent them from entering. Using the partial cover of one of the bulkheads, he settled down with his sights trained on the entryway. They’d take him, but he’d make sure it cost them dearly. He threw out his senses to try and find any weak minds among the people breaking into his ship, but was met with only the cold sentience of low level droids with simple orders. He cursed his luck and primed his guns to fire. 

The door cracked open, the tools the droids were using superior to the mechanical safeguards the door itself had, and a crack of light swept into the shuttle. Ben squinted in the light, but he could see nothing blocking it, no target presenting itself for aim. The wedge of light grew a little larger before a limb passed along it. Before Ben could fire, he heard the clank of something hitting the deck and the door was sealed again. Even as the gas began to hiss from the canister, Ben dived back towards the pilot’s chair. If he could isolate himself there, seal the door until he found a gas mask… 

Ben’s steps slowed and faltered, the cockpit wavering in his sight. One blaster and then the other fell from his numbed hands. Another step and he fell to his knees, his head swimming. He stared at the grating in the floor, considering dragging himself before he fell forward. Face pressed into the metal floor he willed his hand to lift and find purchase. He just need to get a little further… He needed to find…find…something… He… He…


	3. Chapter 3

Pain. 

Force-damned, kriffing awful pain. 

This was worse than his last hangover, and on that occasion it had been the result of a weekend-long bender on a client’s expense account. That guy may not have been happy with the bill, but it had gotten Ben the information he needed—and some he didn’t, which left Mr. Important grumbling as he covered the bill. 

This time was remarkably different. For one, Ben could feel a cool cloth being pressed to his forehead, soothing where it touched his skin, even though it wasn’t nearly enough to chase the pain away completely. Second was the soft seating underneath him: a wide couch, judging by the dip of its cushions where this other being knelt beside him. He didn’t even think to reach for the Force, not wanting to do anything that might worsen the headache, so instead he opened his eyes slowly and looked out from beneath his long eyelashes, careful not to give away his conscious state. 

The cloth continued its travels across his forehead without interruption. Ben looked out into an opulent room, its colours muted but rich. He could tell the light was natural, pouring in through the large windows he presumed were there, having none of the harshness of artificial light. Glancing to his side—careful not to blink—he could see the knee that pressed down the couch beside him. The person, whomever they might be stood on a long, lean leg, that passed out of Ben’s sight to the carpet. There wasn’t much more he was going to be able to determine like this, so he carefully closed his eyes and sighed deeply, deliberately. 

He felt the cloth withdraw and a change of pressure in the couch beside him as the person beside him placed it down and turned to wait. Slowly, Ben opened his eyes; his head was still pounding and the increased light was like a lance into his brain. He groaned—no harm in trying to get a sympathy vote from whoever was beside him—and lifted a hand to his temple. He looked up and straight into a pair of stunningly beautiful blue eyes. Ben stared, transfixed, even as his head pounded and his tongue felt thick, stopping his words in his mouth. The man above him, with the beautiful eyes, wore a one-sided smirk that seemed to mock Ben. The expression was one that Ben had seen before, in the countless holos that had marched across his datapad since yesterday, the man always wearing the same expression and with that recognition memory crashed back into him and he jolted up from the couch. 

Armitage Hux, CEO, sole inheritor of First Order, Inc., and the very man Ben had been hired to investigate, did nothing more than lean back on the couch, throwing one arm across the carved wooden back as he watched Ben flail for a blaster that isn’t in its holster. 

“What the kriff is going on?” Ben spat when he came up empty in his search for a weapon. He ground the heel of his hand into his temple to try and chase away the pain. 

Armitage reached to the silver tray set on a small table behind him—one spread with first aid supplies, ice, and the damp cloth most recently used on him—and picked up a small stim from its surface, offering it to Ben on his palm. 

“This should help with the headache,” he said, “and any lingering effects from the gas.”

His hand was steady as he waited for Ben to take it, not missing how Ben’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the gas. Armitage rolled his eyes. 

“If I had wanted you dead there were countless opportunities to have had you killed before now,” Armitage said, impatience clear in his voice. “Never mind my using my time to attend to you personally.”

Ben wavered on his feet as he regarded the still-reclining Armitage. With the initial kick of adrenaline wearing off, his whole body ached like he’d gotten a bad dose of Balmorra Flu. Slowly he reached out and took the stim from Armitage’s hand, looking at it carefully as Armitage watched with barely concealed impatience. Ben lifted the stim and pressed it into his neck, feeling almost instant relief as the contents were injected into his system. He breathed deeply as he straightened up, his headache receding, and pocketed the empty stim cartridge as Armitage regarded him from the couch. 

“Better?” Armitage asked. 

“Much,” Ben said with a nod. “Thank you.”

Armitage hummed as he adjusted the tunic of his casual suit. “All the same, I must apologise for the manner of your arrival. I sent out a request for your company and didn’t anticipate that you would be abducted in such a manner. I must also add that the associates that seized you are no longer in my employ.”

“Just a request?” Ben asked. “So, I’m free to leave at any time?”

“Well, of course,” Armitage said, genuine surprise on his face. “Your shuttle is outside—refueled—and any damage caused has been repaired. Though I can’t imagine you would want to leave without asking me your questions first.”

“Questions?” Ben asked. This guy was truly in love with his own voice and Ben wondered how long he could keep him talking if he played up the dumb act. 

Armitage smiled knowingly. _Ah, not long, then._

“Mr. Solo, I make it my business to keep close track of anyone who is investigating me for any reason. I also make it my business to meet them and ensure they know the truth of the situation.”

“ _Your_ truth.”

Armitage chuckled as he stood from the couch, taking a step towards Ben. 

“I have had my chefs prepare a meal for you as my guest this evening. I hope I can convince you to stay at least that long,” he said as he brushed past Ben towards the door. “In the meantime, I’d like to show you to a guest room where you can freshen up, or rest, if you need to.”

Ben said nothing but followed Armitage as he exited the room and led the way to the grand staircase. Now that his head had cleared, Ben could clearly see the raindrops that ran down the wide glass windows, the world looking grey beyond them. The entire house seemed to be made of a strange white marble that appeared almost translucent in the watery light. The dove grey curtains gave the house an otherworldly feel. 

Armitage led him down the west wing of the house, coming nearly to the end of a corridor before turning and opening a door. He stepped back to allow Ben to enter. The suite was large and luxurious: a thick carpet swept wall to wall and an old-style four poster bed stood in the middle of the floor. The room had the same soft grey decor as the rest of the house, but here and there were crimson accepts, startling like slashes of blood. Ben stepped into the room, pushing aside the curtain to peer out into the gloom. 

“There are spare clothes in the wardrobe,” Armitage said from behind him. “And a refresher to the left. Please feel free to use anything that you require.”

“Where are we?” Ben asked. The rain was starting to lighten now, a weak sun overhead trying to break through the cloud cover. 

“Arkanis,” Armitage replied. “My homeworld.”

Ben heard the door close behind him with a soft click. Outside the rain had stopped, heavy droplets still falling from the eaves of the roof to splash against the windowsill. Arkanis. Armitage’s homeworld. Also Brendol’s homeworld, and the place he had died, according to the reports Kareen had furnished him with. 

Ben stepped away from the curtain, crossing the room to the wardrobe. He pulled open the pale wooden doors, revealing an array of clothing in many colors. They ranged from from the pale grey of the bedroom—which, Ben thought with a snort, he could wear if he wished to engage in stealth—to deep greys and reds so dark that they were almost black. He selected one: a dark shirt with a crimson thread running through it; It looked to be his size, and he had to admit it would suit his colouring, but he placed it back on the hanger and closed the wardrobe. 

He crossed to the refresher: also an extravagant affair. A large clawfoot tub sat in the centre of the room, big enough, he thought, to hold even a man of his size comfortably. That was no surprise given Armitage’s own stature, but as he ran a hand along the edge, he thought that the tub could fit them both. Ben coughed as he tried to chase away that line of thought and stepped over to the sink. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, passing a hand over the stubble that was starting to appear on his chin. He opened the cabinet and found an array of toiletry products, as well as a selection of stims. He picked up an adrenaline stim, injected it, and inhaled sharply as it coursed through his system. He pocketed a couple more for good measure and closed the cabinet, running cold water to splash over his face, damp fingers in his hair. 

_Good enough._

Ben grimaced when he emerged from his room and found Armitage waiting in the hallway for him. Armitage, for his part, pushed away from the wall he was leaning against and gave Ben a long look up and down, as if seeing him for the first time. When he met Ben’s eyes, he gave him a dazzling smile. 

“I was thinking that perhaps you’d like a tour of the grounds before dinner,” he said, turning away and expecting Ben to follow. Ben hesitated for a moment, and then took long strides to catch up with him so that they descended the stairs together. 

“There are some places that would interest me professionally,” he said, watching Armitage carefully from the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction. 

“Of course,” Armitage replied, his smile becoming sharper. “We’ll start the tour there, shall we?”

Armitage brought them to the right at the end of the stairs, leading them down a relatively narrow and dim corridor, before opening one half of an ornate set of double doors, leaving Ben blinking with the sudden brightness. 

“My father designed his study that way,” he said as he moved into the room, leaving Ben wiping away the moisture that had sprung up in his eyes. “Wanted to literally dazzle people to put them off kilter before his meetings with them.”

Recovering, Ben stepped into the room. He noted the plush carpet under his feet. Around the room were hardwood bookshelves, stacked with a variety of data storage files and flimsi binders. Armitage was leaning against a large table set near the back of the room where it was framed by large, rounded windows. The light pouring into the room blurred his silhouette, while also setting his hair aflame. 

“This is where they were found?”

“This is where they died,” Armitage said, nodding to the carpet in front of him. “Right here.”

Ben stared down at the carpet and back up at the walls. There were no signs of blood or charring, nothing to imply that a weapon had been used or discolouration to suggest a clean up or repair had been made. Ben knelt and passed his fingers over the carpet fibres, but they felt no different no matter where he touched them. 

“Discrete range high-power blaster bolts,” Armitage said. “Sufficient to kill a person without leaving untidy blood stains. My father killed his wife before turning the blaster on himself.”

“What reason could he have had for killing her?”

Armitage shrugged, a lazy lift of one shoulder. 

“He believed she was having an affair.”

“So was he, if the stories are to be believed.”

Armitage nodded to him at that, neither confirming nor denying his own origins. 

“My father was of that oh-so-delightful old guard; different rules for officers than for their wives.”

Ben looked up at Hux from his position on the carpet. With the angle changed, his face was clearer to Ben, and he had on such an intense look that Ben felt a pull towards him, something he was tumbling towards. He shook himself as he stood, pulling his gaze away from Armitage. 

“You haven’t changed anything since the bodies were removed?” Ben asked flatly. 

“No point,” Armitage replied, sounding bored. “I haven’t yet decided if I’ll keep this place or not.”

Ben risked looking over at him and saw him glancing about the room. 

“I’ve always hated this room,” he said quietly. For a moment, through the Force, Ben could feel old memories: the room viewed from a different angle, by someone shorter or younger standing in front of the desk. It represented a source of unequaled fear. Armitage took a breath, turning back to Ben and shaking off the impressions like an old coat. “Whatever I decide, I certainly won’t be retaining this room.”

With that, Armitage made to exit the room and this time Ben didn’t hesitate to follow him. 

“Where next?” Armitage asked as he stopped in the foyer. “I haven’t been here since I was sent to boarding school, so I’m not entirely familiar with the layout as my father kept it.”

“Perhaps your family’s crypt.”

Armitage turned to Ben with a bemused expression. “You are a morbid one, Mr. Solo. Very well.”

Ben walked beside Armitage as he led them to the back of the house, stepping out onto another grand staircase that led down into the gardens. The leaves still dripped from the earlier shower and the air was rich with the scent of clay and humus. Ben looked around as they walked, but he recognised none of the few native flowers that were in bloom, their petals still clinging to their stems despite the assault from the constant rain. 

The flower gardens changed to a water display, which Ben couldn’t help but scoff at. It was a sentiment shared by Armitage, judging by the smile on his face. Further on, past lines of hedges that grew progressively in height until finally they left the garden behind and walked through an open meadow. The long grass soon soaked the ends of Ben’s trousers, small seeds clinging to the fabric as he passed. Armitage walked confidently ahead of him, undisturbed by the damp, until he came to a large stone platform. Ben climbed to the edge of it to stand beside him, having to resist the temptation to try sweeping the seeds from his clothes. 

The platform they stood on was quite large, the stone surface made smooth by the rain. There were two shallow stone steps up to it, themselves stained with the runoff from the rain—and something darker. Ben stood one step down from the level surface, trying to spy an entrance or other trap door that might admit them to the family crypt. 

“Where is it?”

“Hm?” Armitage murmured, turning to him with a distant look on his face.

“Your father’s remains?”

“My father’s remains were dealt with in the traditional Arkanis fashion, as was his wish,” Armitage replied, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “That is cremated, and the rain allowed to wash the ash away.”

Ben stared at Armitage, mouth fallen open. Without the bodies—even the skeletons to examine—there was no way to verify that they had actually died in the way he said. 

“It’s quite the ceremony,” Armitage continued. “A large pyre is built here, on this altar,” he smiled at this, turning to show Ben his amusement. “The wood is dried of course, indoors over several weeks if necessary.”

“And yet you have enough to build the pyre without waiting?”

“Look at the manor,” Armitage said, gesturing towards the house. “Do you think a place like this would be unprepared for anything?”

Ben had turned at Armitage’s gesture, and now looked back to the flat stone surface where no evidence of burning remained. 

“The bodies are lit at sunset, it’s less likely to rain then, and someone stands over the pyre to ensure the remains are consumed and washed away with the morning sun.”

A fat drop of rain landed on the stone façade, making the still wet stone shiny. Several more drops joined it, one landing on Ben’s head. He felt like if he just stood there, the rain would wash him away too, just like this case and any hope he had of solving it. 

“Perhaps we should go inside?” Armitage asked. “We can have a drink if dinner is ready.”

Without a word, Ben followed him back into the house.


	4. Chapter 4

When they returned to the house, Ben automatically declined Armitage’s offer to use the guest room to dry himself from the returning rainstorm that had chased them back from the site of the funeral pyre. Ben already knew that Armitage had no intention of leaving him alone to explore the house by himself—to gleam what information he could from the old building—so he figured instead that his best approach was to stay close to him instead and gather information directly from the suspect. 

Armitage led them into the dining room, which surprised Ben by being much smaller than he had anticipated. A small table, which could perhaps seat six comfortably, stood at the centre of the room. Both ends were set with flatware, leaving the middle free of anything that might block their views of each other. Ben was still taking in the table when Armitage pressed a glass into his hand. Armitage turned away from him to watch a service droid set a fire in the large fireplace.

Ben sniffed the drink that had been placed in his hand. It smelled expensive and he had to tamp down the sudden surge of anger that made him want throw the drink into the flickering flames, dashing the fine crystal tumbler to pieces. He took a sip of the liquor, holding it on his tongue to savour the smooth, smokey flavour.

Ben felt completely out of place here. He should have just left now and headed to the shuttle Armitage had promised was available for him to take any time he wanted. He felt like there was nothing he could gain from staying here any longer in the company of an a man like this. There was something about Armitage that he couldn’t put his finger on, like he was teasing Ben with a secret held just out of sight. He swallowed the liquor and set the glass down at the edge of the table. Armitage turned around as the fire was catching, eyebrows raised. 

“Not to your taste?” he asked. 

Ben shook his head, not willing to put his feelings into words. He wanted to do something, find some outlet for the restless energy that was building in him. 

“Tell me more about your Arkanis traditions,” Ben said, looking at Armitage with hard eyes. 

Armitage hid his smile in his glass, and Ben felt like he was being laughed at. 

“Would you rather know about our seasonal rain festivals or the sun worshiping fertility rituals?” Armitage asked, leaning back against the low couch in front of the fire, cradling his glass with both hands. 

“How about mourning?”

Armitage’s face didn’t change, but the humour disappeared from his eyes, and Ben got an impression of what it would be like to truly be an enemy of this man. 

“You’re very quick to judge me,” Armitage replied, “given how little you know of me.”

Ben held his gaze, swallowing his guilt, and waited for Armitage to speak again. 

“You already know about my background, how my father whelped me from the help and was forever embarrassed by the fact. You heard me say earlier that I wasn’t familiar with this house; that’s because he shipped me to boarding school as early as he possibly could.”

Armitage drained the glass, throwing his head back to take every last drop. Ben watched his throat work and saw the mottled skin at his collar that betrayed his anger. Armitage lowered his head again and, for a moment, his mask dropped and Ben expected that he’d be the one to turn and throw the glass against the grate. Instead, with a controlled motion, he set the glass carefully down on the low table beside the couch. 

“There was no love lost between me and my father,” Armitage continued as he turned back to Ben, his calm superficially restored. “And you’re quite right, I don’t mourn my father, though I have the presence of mind to not celebrate this death, either—at least not while I’m trying to court favour with the painfully old minds left on his board of directors.”

Armitage was suddenly marching closer to Ben, his limbs tense with his withheld anger. Ben’s senses ratched up to almost screaming the danger as Armitage drew close, and it took everything in his power not to flinch away. 

“But a lack of sorrow does not indicate guilt, I assure you,” Armitage said, close in the small space between them. 

Armitage was starting into his eyes, his own flicking back and forth as he maintained the closeness between them. The tension was palpable, present enough that it would prevent Ben from moving if he tried.

Ben blinked and the moment was broken, Armitage relaxing back and hiding behind his host’s smile. A noise at the door pulled his attention and Armitage looked over his shoulder, his smile broadening. 

“Ah,” he said, “it seems that dinner is served. Shall we?” 

Armitage gestured towards the table, and Ben felt his breath leave him in a relieved rush as he distanced himself from Armitage and took his place. The pair of droids that had brought the trolley split off into their functions: one pouring the wine while the other placed a shallow bowl of soup in front of Armitage and Ben. Armitage lifted his wine glass, draining half of it. Ben ignored the glass in favour of lifting a silver spoon, dipping it into the thick soup. It tasted earthy, like the cooking droid managed to distill the taste of rain and soil into a bowl. 

After several spoonfuls, Ben noticed that though Armitage had refilled his wine glass, he hadn’t touched his soup. He hesitated to lift the next spoonful, licking the flavour of the soup from his lips. 

“It’s not poisoned,” Armitage muttered, seeing his hesitation. “That’d be quite a waste.”

“Then why aren’t you—”

“I didn’t mean the soup,” Armitage replied, looking at Ben from beneath his lashes. “I’m not eating it because I’ve never developed a taste for the cuisine on his planet. It all tends to taste of mud.”

Ben set down his spoon, lifting his napkin to wipe his mouth before taking up his wine glass. Again he hesitated, swirling the amber liquid in the glass before setting it down. 

“Why do you do all this?” Ben asked. “A father you hate, a home you hate... Why do you bother with all this?”

Armitage froze with his glass half-raised. Finally Ben had caught him unawares, had managed to find a crack in his façade. 

“Why do _you_?” he asked.

Ben said, lamely, “I…”

Armitage continued: “You haven’t followed your mother into politics or your father into...whatever it is he does or your infamous uncle on his monastic path. What are you doing?”

Ben tried to hold Armitage’s gaze, keeping his expression steady against the rush of emotions inside him. He tried to calm himself and remind himself that Armitage didn’t know—he couldn’t. He merely recited what anyone might learn from the holos about Ben Solo. 

“Don’t you ever wish you could become someone else?” Armitage pressed, setting down his glass and leaning forward as he continued. “Disappear, escape all their expectations?”

Ben sighed heavily. 

“Sometimes,” he admitted. 

“As do I,” Armitage said quietly. 

He sat back in his chair again, but made no move to pick up his glass. Ben looked him over. He seemed relaxed in a way he hadn’t been before, and when Ben reached out towards him with his Force oft-neglected sense, he could sense a tremulous connection there between them. 

“Perhaps I should cancel the rest of dinner,” Armitage said after a while, lifting his spoon to disturb the skin that had formed on his soup. “Perhaps, though, a digestif? It’d be a shame to waste the fire.”

The digestif turned out to be more of the same liquor Armitage had served before dinner, but Ben couldn’t find it in himself to mind too much, not when Armitage had folded himself onto the couch beside Ben and turned to face him with one arm resting on the back. Armitage’s full attention was a heady thing, and Ben couldn’t decide if he felt more burned by Armitage’s cold eyes or from the blazing fire in front of them. 

“What would you want to be?” Armitage asked. “If, in this moment, you could do anything—anything at all with no constraints—what would you want?”

Ben did look away then, staring into the dancing flames as if he might find an answer there. He had already tried so much: an apprenticeship with his uncle, who he had run from—been chased from—working with his mother and proving his lack of temperament for her path. He needed to hide from the spotlight. His father’s contacts had proven useful for that, but Ben had quickly chafed at the mundanity of his routine, which was made easy by the additional skills at his disposal. 

“What do you want?” Armitage asked again. 

Ben looked back up at him and noted how he had leaned a little closer, one hand hovering over his arm—just short of touching him. Ben’s lips parted as he looked back, seeing the hunger in Armitage’s eyes. 

At some unspoken cue, Armitage moved, swinging his leg over Ben’s so he sat straddling his lap, arms balanced on each of Ben’s shoulders. Ben tilted his head up, hoping for a kiss, but Armitage smiled and began to lean back. Ben’s hands flew to his legs, trying to steady him, but Armitage smiled and shook his head. And then Ben understood. 

Perhaps it was foolish, to reach for so much after so long and to use it for something as frivolous as to amuse a man he barely knew. But some part of him knew otherwise. Some part could feel the echo and call in Armitage that felt familiar to him, that made him feel like they would have met sooner if Ben had walked a different path. He longed for that connection, so he reached for the gifts of his bloodline, feeling the Force as it rose to meet him and flowed out from him to support Armitage as he leaned further back. He stretched his arms over the back of the couch to show that Armitage was being supported now with his powers, not by any trick of balance. 

Ben thought he had let this part of himself atrophy—had tried to let it lie quiet and dormant so he could live a normal life and be happy with the mundane one the galaxy seemed content to offer him. But as Armitage moved, trusting in Ben completely to keep him from falling, Ben felt the power surging back, filling him and wrapping around him like a well-worn coat: welcome and warm. 

Armitage’s smile grew wider as the invisible force supported him, keeping him safe even as his back curved and his hair hung loose as he stared at the fire upside down. With a laugh, he began to pull himself upright. Ben could feel the flexing of his muscles against his legs and pulled with the invisible arms, too. Armitage laughed breathlessly as he came upright against Ben’s chest, his eyes bright. 

“What a wonder you could be,” he whispered against Ben’s lips. 

Ben shivered to feel Armitage’s fingertips track from his hair to his temples and follow the curve of his jaw to the skin of his neck. In return, he took his hands from the couch and slid them up Armitage’s legs, ghosting over the fabric of his trousers until he was able to rest his hands on his trim waist, pulling Armitage closer against him. Armitage gasped at being manhandled so, but he leaned down, finally brushing Ben’s lips softly with his own. He kept his touches teasing, using glancing pressure that made Ben pull him tighter, wanting to crush Armitage to him. Armitage responded with a moan deep in his throat, tongue flicking out to lap at Ben’s lips. 

Ben felt his patience rapidly spooling away, and he was tempted to lift Armitage up and bear him down onto the carpet in front of the fire like so many bad holodramas.But Armitage slid back from his lap, easily separating the arms that had been wrapped around him as he climbed to his feet. 

“You’re free to leave whenever you want,” he said, holding out a hand, “though I hope you might be interested in staying for breakfast.”

This was the man Ben was investigating: the man who had been accused by his client of murdering his own father in cold blood to steal an inheritance. He could be guilty without showing it— proud instead of remorseful—and Ben could make no greater mistake than allowing himself to become entangled with someone at the very heart of his work. 

Ben stared up at Armitage. With the fire behind him, his hair glowed and his skin seemed pale and delicate, begging to be touched. 

Ben stood and, taking Armitage’s hand, allowed himself to be led upstairs. 

He wasn’t at all surprised when Armitage led him to the same room that he had been shown to earlier, guiding him inside and closing the door quietly behind them—as if they were sneaking in , hiding from the others Ben knew were not in the house. He was distracted by Armitage’s gentle touch, his fingertips dancing over the line of his jaw—the tips just slightly cold—as he guided Ben’s lips towards his. 

At first, the kisses were gentle—teasing—as Armitage tested the give and the push, trying to encourage Ben to give away his preferences. Ben returned the kisses just as gently, completely unhurried, until Armitage gave a little huff of impatience and thrust his tongue into Ben’s mouth. Ben moaned at the feel of it, his eyes fluttering shut as Armitage’s tasted him, nipping at his lips and running his tongue over the indentations before they faded. 

One of Armitage’s hands slowly began to trail downwards from Ben’s jaw, tracing the pulse along Ben’s neck, feeling the jut of his collarbone under the collar of his shirt. Armitage’s fingers drifted over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the muscle beneath and he lay his hand over Ben’s chest to feel the rapid flutter of his heart. 

Ben pulled back from Armitage, looking into his face to see an expression there that was dark and wanting: desire for Ben mixed with desire for something else. Ben could have tried reaching into his mind to pluck free the information, but instead Ben kissed him hard then, wrapping his arms around Armitage’s slighter body as he began to move them back towards the large canopy bed. Armitage allowed himself to be led, his eyes not opening again until his calves bumped against the bed. He sank down to sit on the edge, hands trailing down Ben’s sides. He tried to cling to the fabric of Ben’s trousers as Ben stepped away and crossed to the refresher. 

Closing the door behind him, Ben leaned heavily on the sink, breathing hard before he looked at himself in the mirror. His lips were red from Armitage’s bites, his pupils still wide despite the bright lights of the refresher. He lifted a hand to the concealed cabinet behind the mirror, snorting when he saw what was inside: myriad devices for cleansing, lubes, prophylactics. Ben felt a brief surge of jealousy for the string of men Armitage must bring here to this impersonal room. He wondered if he was nothing more to Armitage than the latest notch on his belt. 

When Ben emerged some time later, it was to see Armitage laid out on the bed, all his clothes removed and neatly put away. His hands were gently sweeping along his body, teasing at his nipples and brushing just close to the cock that lay hard against his stomach. Ben had left his own clothes in the bathroom and as he stepped towards the bed, Armitage turned to him, leaning on one elbow to look at him like a starving man might regard a feast. 

As Ben reached him, Armitage surged up from the bed, his cold-tipped fingers once again guiding Ben’s face to his, drawing him down onto the bed to lie above Armitage with kisses that quickly grew in their insistence. Ben gladly followed Armitage down, climbing over him so he covered Armitage with his body, supporting his weight on his elbows before he lowered his body to push him into the mattress with his weight. Armitage moaned into the kiss as Ben encompassed him, his hands stroking Ben’s sides now, feeling the scars that were on his skin. 

When Armitage lifted his leg, he pressed against the space between Ben’s legs. Ben gladly spread his legs for him, shifting upwards so that he sat astride Armitage. The angle was prefect for the slow rocking of their pelvises as their kisses grew into panting between their mouths. Ben’s eyes darted towards the ‘fresher he had forgotten to bring any of the supplies out with him. However, Armitage reached under the pillow by his head and retrieved what they needed. 

Ben tried to kiss away his envy of all the other lovers Armitage had brought here; this was, after all, a reminder that Armitage was far too familiar at this form of seduction. Trying to focus on the sound of the lubricant as it was poured from the bottle and the feel of Armitage’s fingers as they began to stroke in gentle circles around the furl of his ass. Ben tried to forget how practiced Armitage was. He was grateful when Hux’s fingers breached him because it seemed that Armitage was concentrating on his pleasure as much as preparing him and Ben couldn’t think about anything else. 

He was mindlessly canting his hips into Armitage’s motions, trying to get friction from his fingers and cock both, nuzzling against Armitage’s mouth as he panted. He was glad when Armitage withdrew, pushing on Ben’s hips, and Ben gladly moved himself to watch as Armitage spread lube on his cock and held himself steady for Ben to sink down onto. For all he seemed almost unaffected when he was preparing Ben, he seemed now to hold himself rigid as Ben took him into his body. His eyes were closed tight and back bowed as he pushed into Ben’s heat. 

Ben reached down to him, stroking fingers over his face, holding them steady as Armitage chased them and kissed the tip of each. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Armitage said, as he forced his eyes open to look at Ben sitting atop him. 

He moved his hands to Ben’s hips and, guiding him to gentle motion, began to thrust into him. The pace was slow and deeply satisfying and affected Ben more than he cared to admit. Armitage thwarted any attempt to gain control or change the pace, his slim hands holding Ben’s hips in an iron grip and canting Ben to just the position he wanted. Armitage was flushed, panting, eyes dewy and glazed as he looked up at Ben—as lost as Ben himself felt. 

Ben couldn’t have said how long they moved together like that. It was an eternity of glorious, cresting need and not nearly long enough. When he moved to take himself in hand, Armitage let out a cry, his rhythm faster and beginning to falter as Ben bore down on him in his own frenzy. Ben’s back arched, his body going taut as he came, his cock pulsing in his hand. Armitage was breathless as he clung to Ben’s hips, driving himself into the tight heat before he too became drawn tight, nails leaving crescent marks on Ben’s hips. He clung to Ben, even as Ben felt his warmth spread inside him. 

Ben leaned down to kiss Armitage as he recovered, their kisses mostly panted between touches of lips. He moaned happily when Armitage’s hands tangled in his hair, taking control of their kiss once more and leaving Ben breathless. When Armitage slipped out of him, he shifted to the side, curling up in his arms as Armitage pressed kisses to the top of his head. 

He fell asleep there to the sound of Armitage muttering possessive things.


	5. Chapter 5

Ben woke to raindrops running down the glass of the window beside him, with only the level of the light to indicate it was well into the morning. He wondered how anyone might stand to stay on a planet so relentless in its grey dreariness. He heaved a sigh as he contemplated stepping out of the bed, but he felt a hand reach over and caress his back. He turned his head on the pillow until he was able to take in Armitage, who was lying on his back and smiling a contented smile. 

“Good morning,” he said, voice deep from sleep. 

Ben gave a half smile in return, his thoughts already turning inward. As if sensing it, Armitage withdrew the hand that had continued stroking his exposed skin. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I...I should go,” Ben said. 

“Oh,” Armitage said, his expression closing off. “Well, if you wish to leave, by all means.”

Ben lifted his eyes, prepared to to protest Armitage’s choice of words, but he’d already thrown back the covers and swung his legs from the bed. As Ben watched, he crossed to the wardrobe and opened it to withdraw a black silk robe, which he pulled on. As he turned back to Ben, he was tying the belt around his middle, the whole thing tied loose so a small sliver of Armitage’s chest and leg were still on display. 

“It’s not that I want to go,” Ben said, sitting up, “but I do have work to do.”

“Work?”

“And I probably shouldn’t have slept with a suspect in the case—”

“I didn’t realise I was still a suspect.”

Ben blinked and watched as Armitage crossed to the refresher, the door closing with a soft click behind him. In the whirlwind that this planet stop had been—one blow after another to him and then to his case—he’d never actually talked with Armitage about the accusations against him. Ben assumed that all Armitage knew was that questions would be asked. Precious few people had heard of him before his ascension to the head of his father’s empire. 

Behind the door, Ben could hear the the muted sounds of small splashes that indicated that water interrupted in its fall. He was tempted to follow Armitage into the shower, to press kisses into his skin with his lips and to tumble him back into the bed. 

Instead, he threw back the covers and began to gather his clothes from where they were scattered on the floor. He pulled them on, trying to ignore the sticky sweat feeling of having spent the night with someone. He felt his pockets, finding everything in place, and then cast his eyes around. No spare scrap of flimsi presented itself for him to use to leave a note for Armitage. He considered going back down to the office Armitage had showed him the previous day, but thought that might look too much like snooping, trying to examine the room while Armitage wasn’t there. He wouldn’t really have time to look anywhere about. 

Trying to swallow down the feeling of regret at leaving without a word, Ben exited the room, closing the bedroom door quietly behind him and made his way swiftly down the stairs. Thankfully, a droid stood at the ready at the door, coming alert as he approached and pointing the way to the landing pad. True to his word, Armitage had had the shuttle refueled and restocked, and it was no more the worse for its abduction than Ben was. 

Ben cast a look back towards the house, though he knew from the view that the room Armitage was in faced away from the landing pad. Well, the shuttle was maybe better off than he was, in some ways. Pushing down another upwelling of regret that he couldn’t convince himself to stay any longer, Ben engaged the engine and began to take off. 

Ben was in orbit before he noticed the blinking light of a message on his shuttle’s control console. He tapped the message, and the grainy image of his father appeared. 

“Hey, Ben,” he began, “got your message. Not going to have much time—” He was cut off by a loud bark in Shyriiwook, and he yelled back: “That’s not true! We have to leave to pick up those… supplies…” Another protest. “You know the ones. The supplies!”

There came another Wookiee objection, but this on more mumbled, if that was possible in Shyriiwook.

Ben smiled, shaking his head as Chewbacca continued to grumble in the background. He was as able to see through Han’s dissembling as Ben. 

“Never mind that,” Han said off to the side. “Ben, we’ll be on Coruscant for a few hours. The universal time codes will be at the end of the message. We’ll meet you at the usual place, if you can make it.”

Han hesitated, something that drew Ben’s attention more than the arguing. He thought—and hoped—for a moment that Han would say something more, but he shook his head, and Ben’s heart sank. 

“See you later, kid.”

The message cut out, though the promised time codes remained. Ben copied it into his shuttle’s navicomm, noting how neatly it fit together that he could meet his father for a drink, get the info he needed, and then keep his appointment for the old First Order offices on-planet. It was about time something went right for him, he thought, engaging the shuttle and speeding on to his destination. 

The cantina at which Han wanted to meet was in one of Coruscant’s less reputable areas, so Ben walked with the soft step that his father had taught him—one that didn’t draw attention but also encouraged the people who did look to keep on looking; they’d find nothing but trouble with him. He threaded his Force senses into the walk, too, to encourage people to forget his passing. 

He was glad to see only his father at the cantina, sitting with two glasses in front of him—both untouched—in a booth towards the back of the bar. Ben loved Chewie like an uncle, but he made things a little more conspicuous. He reached into his jacket’s inside pocket, his fingers curling around the kelsh figure there. He crossed the cantina floor, quietly slipping into the seat opposite Han, catching his quiet smile as he pushed one of the glasses towards him. 

“Took your time getting here,” Han grumbled, picking up his own glass to drink from. 

“You could have left,” Ben suggested with a shrug, grinning at his father’s grimace at the suggestion. 

It was a liquor his father favoured, not one of his preferred drinks, and far inferior to those that had been served in Hux’s mansion. Ben put the glass down again, fingers toying with the rim. 

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Han said.

Ben looked up at his father and then quickly down again. This wasn’t a subject either of them were able to broach lightly. It had been so many years ago, and yet, sometimes, Ben woke to the feeling of his palm sore from gripping a lightsaber hilt too tightly, skin damp with sweat rather than rain, and the scream of his name still ringing in his ears. 

“Ben?”

Ben could hear the concern in his father’s voice, and pulled the kelsh figure from his pocket, placing it on the table between them. Han stared at in, and then slowly reached out as if to touch it. Before he did, he placed his hand down on top of it, hiding it from sight while the memories of that time passed over his face. 

“Ben,” he said, and Ben could hear the warning and the fear in his voice, “did it… Has it happened again?”

Ben shook his head, disappointed in his father. His first instinct was fear of his own son, still. 

“No,” Ben said, swallowing down his bitterness. “It would be all over the holos if it had, wouldn’t it?”

Han dropped his gaze, scooping up the small figure with his hand carefully angled to keep it out of sight of the other cantina patrons. 

“Why do you still have this, Ben? What if he—”

“It’s nothing to do with him,” Ben said, feeling his anger rising. “I took that from—”

Ben hung his own head, letting his hair fall over his face to hide the sudden stinging in his eyes. Lirin had died in his arms that night. He’d worn the small owl as a clip on his padawan’s tunic, the only personal effect he’d been permitted to keep. Ben had still been clinging to his small body when Luke had found him, head pounding from all the tears he had cried and from the voice that had kept up its whispering, telling Ben to turn and strike, or run, as Luke had approached.

“It was something else,” Ben continued, swallowing to ease the tightness in his throat. “I need it to remember.”

“I thought you wanted to forget.”

“You wanted to forget,” Ben said, fixing his father with an accusing stare. “You and Mom. You wanted to cover up what happened, brush it under the carpet like it had all happened to someone else.”

“Ben, we only ever tried to help—”

“Then tell me who else knows.”

Han blinked, sitting back in his seat. 

“Who else? Kid, no one else knows, no one but me and your mom and Uncle Luke.”

“And Chewie.”

“Yeah, of course, Chewie. Chewie knows everything.”

“No one else?”

“No one,” Han replied. “What’s eating you?”

Ben looked out over the cantina, clutching his glass even though he hadn’t drunk any more from it. No one in the cantina was paying them any attention. Even when he reached out with the Force, he could detect no one surreptitiously watching them: no covert patrons waiting for them to reveal some vital piece of information before making their move. Still, he was unable to shake the feeling of being watched, of being vulnerable. With the feeling dragging him down, he turned back to his father. 

“Someone came into my office,” he began. “Someone who seemed to know what that meant.”

Han frowned. “Did you know them?”

“I’d never seen her before in my life.”

“Her, eh?” Han said, a familiar gleam in his eye. “A looker was she?”

Ben flushed as his father chuckled to himself. He liked to pretend he was a ladies man, even when he only had eyes for Leia, and liked to think of his son as taking after him in charm. 

“I didn’t…maybe…”

“Maybe she picked it up at random,” Han said, holding out the kelsh owl for Ben to take back. “Maybe she just likes birds.”

Ben took the figure back, slipping it back into his pocket. He felt unsatisfied, even though he didn’t really know how he had expected his father to help. As well connected as he was, even now, it was incredibly unlikely that he’d have been able to pull a fully formed conspiracy from his pocket for Ben to pick apart. 

“How about a hijacking? Picking someone up between planets” Ben asked. “Heard anything about that?”

“There was a contract the other day, already had a job, though.”

“Could you find out about it for me?”

“Sure, yeah,” Han said, draining his glass. “You get mixed up in that one?”

Ben just shook his head. No need to worry Han just yet—especially if he’d actually considered taking the contract himself. That would have meant the contractor wasn’t ringing any alarm bells for him. 

“Another?” Han asked, ignoring the liquid still left in Ben’s glass. 

“I should go,” Ben said, looking quickly at his chronometer. “I have another meeting to get to.”

Han nodded sadly, though Ben could also sense that brief flash of relief from him. In all their years together, he felt still felt awkward around Ben, never knowing what he had to say to impress him as a boy or a man, and completely missing what it was that Ben really needed. 

“Well, I’ll be back here in a day or so, when Chewie and I have made that delivery, so maybe I can give you a call.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, trying to hide the sadness in his smile. “You do that.”

They both stood from their seats, wrapping the other in a tight hug. Ben felt a little guilty as Han hugged him tight. There was affection there, for all his faults, and for all Ben’s faults, too. Ben squeezed him back before letting go, smiling while Han clapped him on the shoulder. With that, he turned away and left.

Ben hurried from the cantina, threading a little more Force into his walk as he made his way back to his shuttle. He couldn’t shake the feeling that things weren’t quite right: that someone else had known about the temple Luke had set up and how it had come to ruin. But maybe Han was right and Kareen had just picked up the figure by chance, with nothing else to it than that. 

Someone crashed into Ben then, hitting his shoulder hard and making him reach for a lightsaber that hadn’t hung from his belt in years. The stranger held both hands up in apology, bending over and staggering drunkenly. Ben willed his body to relax, turning away from the drunk. He was distracted; he needed to clear his mind before his next meeting. 

He boarded his shuttle, checked his messages briefly, and then set his autopilot to bring him to the coordinates of First Order, Inc.’s offices before he took to one of the bunks, closing his eyes in meditation. He hadn’t used the techniques Luke had showed him in years, but it was the best he could do in the short time he had to get his head back in the game. 

Despite his best efforts, Ben started back to awareness as the shuttle settled down on the executive landing platform of First Order, Inc. He ran a hand through his hair to order it and hurried to the ramp to meet Executive Officer Unamo, who was dressed in a crisp black suit and looking far fresher than Ben felt she had any right to be given the early hour in this part of the world. 

“Mr. Solo,” she said, extending her hand and squeezing Ben’s hand firmly. “Mr. Mitaka told me to expect you. If you’d like to follow me?”

Ben nodded and fell into step behind the short woman. She led him to the CEO’s office, a grand room with a truly impressive view. 

“I believe Mr. Mitaka warned you that a lot of our files have already been archived or moved to other storage facilities.”

“Yes, he did,” Ben said as he looked at the stack of files against one wall. Apart from those, the office was empty of anything else: no pictures or awards, nothing to boast the company or tokens offered from grateful customers. Nothing to give an indication of the personality of quirks of Brendol Hux, the man who had once worked here. 

“We held off on shipping anything more when Mr. Mitaka’s call came through and arranged everything here for you. We can recall more files if you need, though you may find more information at the Hosnian office.”

Flipping through one of the stacks of datafiles, Ben hefted one box onto the massive table, and took a seat in the CEO’s comfortable chair. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Solo?”

“Caf would be nice,” Ben said, smiling his most charming smile. 

Unamo smiled back in a way that said she’d encountered his type before and was only going along with it because she wanted to, not because he’d charmed her. He didn’t mind; caf was caf. 

“I’ll send my assistant in with some in two moments. Anything else, please call me.”

Ben set himself to going through the files, barely noticing when the promised caf was delivered. The datafiles were much as he expected: dry, boring, endless figures and numbers, all totting up the sizeable figures that the company dealt in but giving no indication of the more personal machinations that had gone on behind the scenes. There was a brief mention of Kareen’s hiring date, a couple of columns where her name appeared next to expenses for her department, but precious little else. Of Armitage there was no mention at all. 

Ben had gone through two cups of caf, refilling the mug from the insulated jug the assistant had also thought to leave, when he spied something odd. An older datapad, edges nocked like it had been well used, falling against table edges many times in its life. There was no name on it, no initials to indicate who it had belonged to, but it held files far more interesting than just financial reports. 

It was as if the owner of the file had taken to a form of scrapbooking, saving newsfeed reports as discrete files, separate from the holonet where files might be hacked or corrupted. Here Ben found evidence of the soul of the company. There were stories hinting at personal trouble of Brendol’s, rumours of a divorce that were quieted by time away from the company and a PR campaign that told of wrongs righted. Given what Armitage had told Ben of his own origins, Ben knew what these stories related to and was a little surprised that they hadn’t been floated again to give more weight to the idea of a crime of passion. 

But it was the more recent files that were more interesting. Again, there was no mention of Armitage, but there were a couple of mentions of changes in the company, of older staff around Brendol’s own age being replaced by much younger people, who would have been of Armitage’s generation. Clearly no fuss had been made, no investigation begun. No one seemed to think that almost exclusively older men—overweight, lacking exercise— passing away, found dead in their homes or simply disappeared, was strange. But Ben checked the news stories against the limited data files he had here and—yes. All the new appointments, though confirmed by Brendol himself, had come recommended by Kareen. 

His mind was still reeling with this when Unamo stepped back into the office. 

“How’s it going?” she asked, affecting an easy manner. 

“Good. Boring,” he said, nodding like a windscreen doll. 

Unamo chuckled as she perched on the edge of the desk. “Anything you need my help to go through?”

“Nah, I think my eyes have crossed all by themselves,” Ben said, flashing his smile again. “How long have you been working here?”

“Just coming up on five years now,” Unamo said, nothing in her expression registering the comment as anything out of the ordinary. 

“Long while,” Ben mused, sliding the older datapad in among the others as he shifted them from his lap. “Thinking about moving on?”

Unamo shook her head, her short hair just brushing her cheeks. “No, this is where I want to be. This company is on the up.”

“That was Brendol’s plan?”

Unamo bobbed her head to the side, a sly smile on her lips. “A Hux’s plan, definitely.”

Ben shared her conspiratorial smile, agreeing to share another mug of caf with her in her office before he went back to searching through reports. There was more to this than any one person was telling him, and he needed to find out just what was going on.


	6. Chapter 6

Ben was distracted as he piloted his ship back to Hosnian Prime, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip until it was tender. None of this was coming together in a way that made any sense. If Kareen had been involved in the appointments of so many of the currently high-ranking staff of First Order, why was she now on the outside? Was she nothing more than a bitter executive, frustrated that her own grab for power had been usurped? 

He walked back to his office still in a daze, so he didn’t notice the short man walking directly towards him until they’d already collided. Ben expected the man to recoil from his bulk, but he twisted instead, dragging Ben with him so they were both pressed against the wall. Ben had only a moment to register a shock of blonde hair, somehow familiar, before the stranger’s lips were on his, his arms winding around Ben’s shoulders as he deepened the kiss, trying to draw Ben into it. And for a moment, Ben was tempted. The stranger was slim and lithe, curving his body into Ben’s in a manner no doubt calculated to be distracting, 

Ben reached up to grab his arms, holding them with an iron grip as he pulled away. 

“Well,” the stranger said, “I can see the appeal.”

Ben frowned at him before the credit dropped; Dopheld’s assistant. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, though he made no move to release Thanisson’s arms. And, as Thanisson reclined against the wall, he realised he hadn’t put any distance between them, either. 

“Sampling the local delicacies,” Thanisson said with a sly smile. 

“I don’t have time for this,” Ben snapped, pushing Thanisson away from him and turning to leave. 

Before he could get far, Thanisson was once again in front of him, a determined look in his eye. 

“You don’t have time _not_ to talk to me,” he said, holding up a small device between two fingers. 

Ben glared at Thanisson before looking down at the device. He recognised it from his brief stint of training on the _Falcon_ when Han had given him extensive lessons in the various kinds of security equipment he would encounter, as well as how to disable them. He reached out to take it from Thanisson’s hand. 

“If you’d’ve let me have my way—”

Ben’s eyes snapped up to look at Thanisson again, and Thanisson rolled his own eyes dramatically. 

“—I could have given that to you a lot more discreetly,” he finished. 

Ben glanced to either side. The street wasn’t busy, but he was used to watching his back and being alert for anyone who might be watching him, not wandering the streets so distracted that he could be stopped by anyone. 

“Where did this come from?” he asked as he picked up the small disc, half the size of his thumbnail,, turning it in his fingers. It was still active, still transmitting. 

“Your collar. Just now.”

Ben checked himself before he could reach up to feel for the ghost of the tracker. He folded his hand around it instead, shoving it into his pocket to keep it safe until he could get back to his office to check it out. 

“What are you doing here, anyway?” he demanded.

Thanisson shrugged. “Boss wanted me to keep an eye on you.”

“Mitaka?”

Thanisson rolled his eyes again and gave Ben a look like the estimation of his intelligence in Thanisson’s eyes had just dropped. Again. 

“Ah.”

“There we go,” Thanisson muttered. “At least you’re pretty, eh?”

Ben felt his brows draw in as he frowned, his hands curling into fists in his pockets. Why did Hux want someone to keep an eye on him? Why a secretary of all people? He glanced an Thanisson, noting how he carried himself in a lazy manner, watching the street with far more attention to detail than Ben was, for all that he was disguising it as avid interest in the passersby. 

“What’s your plan now?”

Thanisson made a noncommittal sound, gaze still wandering the street like he was looking for his next mark. 

“I wouldn’t mind engaging in one of the more pleasant ways to pass an afternoon,” he said after a while, gaze roving down Ben’s body before meeting his eyes again. He then turned back to the street with a grin. “But the boss tends to be a possessive type, and I don’t think it’d go well for me.”

Ben felt his back straighten, confusion and resentment rushing through his mind. He’d slept with Armitage once, after the man had had him kidnapped, and he thought this gave him the right to keep tabs on him?

“Well, you can tell your boss thanks for the help, but I can look after myself.”

“You can?” Thanisson asked, his expression showing all of the amusement in his voice. “You sure you don’t want me to sweep you down for any more bugs?”

“No, thank you.” 

Ben walked away then, wanting to be done with him. He made it to the corner of the next building before he turned around and watched Thanisson with his hands shoved in his pockets, idly watching the passersby. Someone shouted on the far side of the street, catching Ben’s attention, and when he looked back, Thanisson was gone. Ben snorted, grudgingly impressed with the young man’s talent. 

The remainder of his walk back to the office was uneventful, the streets quiet at this time, and Ben himself familiar to the other business owners in the district. Nothing at all seemed amiss until he got to the stairwell of his office. The sensors were still in place, as they should have been, but the second was flickering in a way that should have earned him an alert. Any faults or signs of interference should have gone through as alerts to his comm. 

He disengaged the sensors from the alarm and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He was panting by the time he got to the top, but from anger, not exertion. The door was slightly ajar, warped where the locks were fitted, where it had been forced open. Slowly, Ben reached out and pushed the door open and looked over the chaos within. 

The office looked like it had been torn apart. Even his heavy desk had been moved, leaving marks on the floor where it had been pushed. All of his files had been emptied and strewn across the floor, the datapad screen smashed and flimsi sheets melted and warped. All of his display shelves had been shattered, the metal figurines he had collected lying together with razor sharp shards of transparisteel. 

Ben moved through the office half in shock, half hesitant as he pushed the fractured remnants of his office out of the way with the toes of his boots. It was only when he stood in the centre of the office that he thought to look up into the hidden crevices close to the ceiling, the places where he had installed his own cameras and security system, but even those had been torn loose, bare wires hanging where his tech should be. 

With that final blow, Ben righted one of his chairs and collapsed into it. It would be a nightmare trying to figure out what had been taken and by whom, undoubtedly the intention of leaving such a mess behind them. He leaned on one of the chair’s armrests, letting his head fall into his hand and his eyes drift closed. He tried reaching out with the Force, to get an impression of the people who had done this, but so many people had stomped over his small space that he couldn’t separate one from another and soon released his grip on the Force, letting his mind drift. 

It took him a long moment to register the small, irregular noise he could hear outside of his own breathing and the shifting of flimsi in the draft from the door. He lifted his head, neck stiff, and blinked gummy eyes about the room. Was so faint, the battery powering it dying, but he started to shift the scattered contents of his office out of the way, pausing to listen until finally he put his hand to it: one datapad, still with power. 

He knelt there in the detritus as the screen flickered, trying to draw backup power to show the message it had been chiming an alert for. The screen was cracked, cutting it into thirds, but the pieces were large enough that Ben was still able to enter his password and call up the message. He was surprised to find it was the results of his own tracer, all but forgotten in the rush of everything that had happened. It had kept processing in its own time, and now, even with his office destroyed, the results were available. 

Ben opened the message, body tense as the screen flickered, threatening to give out altogether before he can read the results. And when he did, he was almost sorry that it hadn’t failed and denied him the knowledge of his last betrayal. He wrote the program himself; there can be no doubting its results. 

The origin of the spying program was the Senate. His mother’s offices to be exact. 

The screen went black then and Ben let it fall from numb fingers and crunch to the ground with the other dead datapads. He wanted to be unsurprised by this revelation, to think of it as just a mother looking out for her son, but he can’t help the tearing sensation in his chest, the feeling of his hopes being split apart. 

They had never really trusted him again—not after that night at Luke’s temple. He’d seen the look in Luke’s eyes, his saber ignited as he stared down at Ben. Ben had felt the rain stinging his face then and had become aware that he was already soaked through, his thin pyjamas clinging to his frame and smeared with ash and worse. Ben had regained control, throwing his own saber down at Luke’s feet and begging him for help, and Luke…Luke had given it. 

He’d pulled loose his own cowl and wrapped it around Ben’s shoulders, keeping him by his side as he went to inspect the damage, inadvertently forcing Ben to experience the carnage he had wrought. He had tried to help Luke where he could, carrying water to put out fires, tending what first aid he knew before medic droids could be summoned. Until he saw Lirin. 

With a cry he had fallen at his friend’s side, pulling him into his arms. He had still been conscious, but only barely, and Ben hadn’t needed Luke’s diagnosis to know that he wouldn’t survive the night. He babbled apologies to Lirin over and over, running fingers down his blue cheeks, unable to understand why he smiled at Ben, trying to lift his hand to return the gesture instead of railing at him with the energies he had left, cursing Ben for his death. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered when Lirin went still in his arms. “I didn’t want to Master Luke. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

Luke’s face twisted against the tears that were streaming down his own cheeks and he knelt to wrap Ben up in his arms, pulling him away from Lirin’s body. Ben screamed and fought him, wanting to fight the reality of this nightmare, until Luke passed his hand by the back of Ben’s head and everything went mercifully dark. 

When Ben woke up, he was bundled into the small space behind Luke’s old T-65 X-wing, wrapped up in Luke’s cloak and a blanket that still smelled like smoke. Luke looked back over the pilot’s seat at him, sadness in his eyes. 

“It’s okay Ben,” he said. “We’re nearly there.”

Ben collapsed back into the nest of blankets, barely feeling the rocking of the starfighter as it entered a light atmosphere. He didn’t move when Luke landed, opening the canopy to let in air that smelled of ozone and fuel. He watched Luke clamber out of the fighter, heard his voice as he spoke in low tones to someone else. He started pushing the blanket to one side so that when Luke’s face reappeared, he stood and followed him down the stepladder to find his father waiting for him. 

The sight of Han Solo, standing awkwardly as he held his arms out for his son, cracked something in Ben’s heart and his lip trembled as he allowed himself to fall into his father’s arms. Han held him, not trying to say anything as Ben sobbed into his shirt; he just let Ben cry. When he was done, Han pulled him back to look at him, his face a mask of sadness and worry, and something else. Ben wasn’t given time to dwell on it as his father turned him, steering him after Luke. 

It was a small asteroid, with artificially induced gravity and barely enough substance to hold onto a thin atmosphere, but it was unnamed and not on any official map, and that suited their requirements. Luke could hide his presence well enough and no one would be surprised to see Solo returning to his old ways, so there would be no report of their presence there. It gave them the time and space to do the things that needed to be done. 

Luke’s lessons continued, but took a very different turn. No longer did he teach Ben to fight, to reach into himself to summon up the Force. Instead he taught Ben now to turn away from it, building a dam within himself that would block the energies from pouring forth. It was contrary to everything that came before, and hard for them both, but it was the only thing they worked on. 

At night, Ben would wake himself screaming with nightmares, his unconscious mind remembering the things that had happened at the temple, which he could never bring to mind during the day. Again and again he would watch his lightsaber slash across the bodies of the people who had been his classmates, watching them fall. Again and again he would see Lirin step out in front of him, calling his name, trying to call him back to himself. In the dream, Ben would falter, his guard lowering for a moment, but when Lirin moved towards him, Ben surged forward, his lightsaber slipping easily through his body. 

As their lessons continued, the dreams began to ease away, as if they were also locked behind the wall that Luke had built. Ben felt a new hardness develop in him as they worked, told himself that it was good if the memories of the temple faded, the faces with them. It was for the best. 

When the day finally came that Luke pressed a sharp knife into his hand, Ben looked at him and knew their time together was over. He sliced neatly through his padawan braid, pressing it and the knife together into Luke’s hand. Luke rested his hand heavy on his shoulder and turned to leave. He watched with his father as Luke’s starfighter took to the air to return to the temple and salvage what he could from the remains. When the light of his ship flashed away, Han clapped Ben on the shoulder and together they went to the _Falcon_. 

Ben’s career as a smuggler began then, as an alternate career from the one that had been snatched from him. Chewie taught him to pilot, and shoot, while Han taught him the finer points of negotiation and hiding goods. They both taught him how to maintain the _Falcon_ and the work with electronics, and he soon proved to be so adept at that that it became his responsibility on board. He upgraded many of the _Falcon_ ’s systems while he was there and found that the Force was still present to him in some small ways, like a sixth sense that helped him find the damaged panels that needed to be replaced before they blew out. 

All the while, he couldn’t shake the feeling of disquiet that stayed with him. It felt sometimes like a whisper only he heard when he was walking the corridors of his father’s ship, and other times he felt it in the moments before waking from dreams he could never remember. It became a kind of restlessness that bled into his day-to-day life, leaving him butting heads with his father, disagreements that exploded into full on arguments and sent them to opposite ends of the ship to get some quiet. 

It was one day, when stopping at a busy spaceport for refueling, that Ben found the shuttle he still had to this day. A sleek black model, something of the old Imperial style to it, thought it had been heavily modified. It spoke to him in a way that he wanted to make his own, more than the _Falcon_ could ever be. He negotiated for the purchase of it there and then, having its security codes in his pocket as he wandered back to tell Han and Chewie the news. 

He saw them sitting at the _Falcon_ ’s loading ramp, resting on boxes of cargo while droids worked around them, disconnecting the fuel line and carrying supplies on board. It hit Ben then that the shuttle was more than his own space: it was his own path. With heavier steps than he had expected, he wandered over to them, shared a drink, and told them the news. 

Chewie had been delighted for him, wrapping him up in a massive hug that had lifted Ben’s feet clear off the ground. Han had been no less enthusiastic in his well-wishes, but Ben had gotten a sense of relief from him, too. Maybe he was just like his father, and they were too similar to share space for long. 

But now, Ben thought, still kneeling the in the ruins of his destroyed office, now a different light was shed on this. Han had been relieved, the same way Luke had been, for all that he hid better. Ben took the tracker from his pocket, pressing his nail into the centre of it until it cracked under the pressure. 

His family were afraid of him. They’d never stopped being afraid of him. 

Ever since that night at Luke’s temple, they hadn’t been trying to help him; they’d been trying to control him, limit him, make him safe. They’d never stopped watching him, even when he’d tried to start his own life, his own career. They’d kept their tabs on him. And worse, if the datapad’s report was to be believed, his mother’s tracer wasn’t just to keep Ben safe; it was also to follow his investigation of First Order, Inc. She never trusted anything that had its origins in the old Empire, but rather than talk to him, she had decided to use him instead—like he was nothing to her. 

Throwing the broken tracker to the floor, Ben pulled out his comm and sent another message to his father, demanding a meeting, urgently. It was time to put an end to this.


	7. Chapter 7

Ben left the office in a blind fury, his head was pounding with an oncoming headache. He could barely catch his breath for the betrayal he felt and paid no attention to the street as he made his way back to his shuttle. He sat in the shuttle, waiting, until his father replied to his message, and then powered it up and flew directly to Han’s location. 

One of Hosnian’s small moons was the perfect location to meet, he thought. The distance was short enough that he could pilot there directly without having to jump to hyperspace, and the trip was quick enough that none of Luke’s lessons on controlling his temper could bubble to the surface. So, Ben only felt cold with anger when he landed and saw his father still at the spaceport. 

His father’s steps were slow as he approached, and Ben could recognise the fear in his hesitation—the fear that had always been present in Han’s dealings with his son. 

“Ben?” Han called out. “What’s wrong?”

Ben hung his head as bitter tears suddenly pricked at his eyes, and bit his lip until he could curb them. 

“Why?” he asked, voice cracking on the question. 

“Ben, what’s happened?”

“Why did you did it? You and Mom?”

Han’s mouth hung open, confusion clear on his face. 

“Was Luke in on it, too? I guess he was.”

“What—”

“The tracker!” Ben screamed. “The tracker you put on me. The one Mom put in my office.”

Understanding dawned on Han’s face then, terrible, damning understanding. His shoulders sagged and Ben noted how he didn’t even try to deny the accusation; he had no words to weasel out of it. Ben threw his head back, inhaling deeply but feeling every breath he took only fueling his anger. 

“Ben, your mother and I...we were only trying to help.”

“Help?” Ben said, letting his head fall forward again to look at his father. He gave a laugh that sounded unhinged even to his own ears. “And how was it supposed to help me?”

He could feel his father on the cusp of a reply when suddenly he straightened, his eyes flicking to either side of Ben as his hand dropped to the holster at his hip. Ben turned to look and saw six individuals emerging from behind his ship giving every appearance of having travelled here with him. One by one they look to him and nod, and Ben felt each nod as an acknowledgement of fealty. He didn’t know these people, not really, but something about them is achingly familiar, like the memories locked behind the walls that Luke built. 

Ben turned back around to face his father as the others fanned out behind him, providing silent support to his words. 

“You can’t even justify it, can you? Using your only child.”

Han retreated a step, his hand resting loose on the handle of his blaster. 

“Ben,” he called, fatherly authority in his voice. “Come here to me, son. Come away from them.”

Ben looked to each side where the figures stood just slightly behind him. Each of them was masked, though the masks themselves were unique, and they were draped in black robes. If it wasn’t for his abilities, he wouldn’t even be able to tell if they were droid or being, but he could feel the blood and the Force as it pulsed through each one of them, and knew they were his. 

“No,” he said, head cocked to one side. “I don’t think I will.”

“Ben—”

“Not until you give me some answers.”

Han Solo shot first. 

It was true to the tales. Han Solo, smuggler, resistance general, husband, father, was always the first to move, the first to shoot. 

Time seemed to slow in that moment. Ben saw his father begin to draw his blaster, but was aware of no movement from his side of the confrontation—nothing that would account for Han drawing a weapon on his own son. There was only Ben, screaming his voice to breaking as he was torn apart, all of the walls in his mind breaking down and falling apart as the full force of his powers came to bear, picking up Han Solo and dashing him against the hull of the nearest ship. 

Ben felt hands at his shoulders then, lifting him up from the ground of the spaceport. He lifted his head as strong arms pulled at him, and across the ground he could see his father’s body lying crumpled on the ground, blaster knocked from his hand. His eyes were open and staring, one hand seemed to be trying to reach across the distance towards him. 

Ben fell limp in the hands for a moment, but they pulled at him again, setting him on his feet and pushing him towards his own shuttle. Their meaning was clear: go. He looked again towards Han’s body, but two of the figures had already moved towards him, and as his head cleared Ben could hear the sirens wailing in the spaceport. His outburst pushed away more than Han, several ships had been disturbed and the local security will be on their way to investigate. Another push on his shoulder and Ben turns and returns to his shuttle. 

His head was spinning as he lurched into his shuttle. His hands were shaking as he took hold of the controls, and he wasn’t sure if that was a result of the power surging through him or if he was absorbing the consequences of his actions.

Ben shook his head, setting the shuttle to leave the atmosphere of the moon before he could follow that train of thought and fall apart in the aftermath. With the comfort of space around him, he realised he didn’t know where to go. Any time before, if he was in trouble, he’d call on family to help him, but that has clearly ceased to be an option. Not knowing what else to do, Ben piloted back to Hosnian Prime, to his apartment and office. If nothing else, he can pack a bag there and fly...somewhere. Somewhere that isn’t here. 

The return flight passed in a blur, and Ben was wandering back towards his office before he realised it. He finds himself half looking around for Dopheld’s assistant Thanisson again, but he is, of course, nowhere to be found. But the thoughts of him delayed Ben long enough to save him from the next trap. 

He spied the bright lights of a security cordon ahead and slowly he realised that it’s set up around his own office building. It may not be his own office affected, he tells himself. The people who ruined his office might well have attacked others and someone a little more socially upstanding than Ben might have called it in. But Ben trusts the instincts that tell him to slow his steps, to hang back in the shadows to wait and observe. 

As Ben watches, a police cruiser pulls up to the building. The door opened and Ben’s jaw dropped as he sees Kareen Phasma step from it, glittering in all her platinum glory. She is escorted inside by one of the officers, and Ben knew without a doubt that they were going to his office. 

He stepped back behind the wall then, pulling his comm from his pocket. He had one last trick left. He punched in a code that he had long had programmed into the office but never had reason to use until now. The comm crackled for a moment, but then he could hear the echo of footsteps as Kareen and the officer ascended the steps to his office. The noises became sharp and clear when they entered the room itself, and Ben smiled darkly that in destroying the cameras they found, his enemies never found the microphones that he had hidden and inactive until now. 

“Mz Phasma, thank you for agreeing to come out here.”

“It’s no problem at all, Officer Dysar. I’m happy to help.”

“You said you had met Ben Solo here previously?”

“That’s right, yes. He asked me to attend his office.”

Ben frowned at the comm in his hands. Kareen was lying. 

“And what did you expect the meeting to be about?”

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure. I had been investigating matters dealing with my own company, though I had thought at the time that I had managed to keep it under wraps.”

“And these investigations were?”

“Brendol Hux had received some disturbing communiques, many of which amounted to outright threats. He was worried for his family, his wife as well as his son.”

“It was widely believe that his son wasn’t in contact with his father,” the officer said. “Was that not true?”

“A fiction to preserve his safety,” Kareen said. “Though perhaps Armitage felt that was the case.”

“So, when you came to Mr. Solo’s office?”

“He pressed me for information on Brendol. Demanded information about his movements, company plans and suchlike.”

“And did you hand the information over?”

“I did,” Kareen said, her voice cracking on a sob. “He left me with no choice.”

Ben slid down the wall, holding the comm close. Surely the cops would realise that nothing in Kareen’s story was adding up: the timing, the conversations, none of it. 

“And what did you do then?”

“I contacted his father.”

“Han Solo?”

“That’s right. I spoke with him about Ben’s actions, and he confirmed what I’d suspected: that the threats against First Order were coming from Ben himself.”

Ben felt a wave of cold dread wash over him. 

“His father confirmed this?”

“His family were worried about him. I understand that with his...heritage, there were some cover-ups, some kind of trouble in his past. His family had been keeping an eye on him thinking that he was walking a dark path again, but when I met with his father, it seemed that things were worse than they had suspected.”

Ben shook his head. His father had never met Kareen. He would have mentioned it if he had. 

“He asked me to keep the information to myself, to stay safe. He was going to speak to Ben himself, but if I didn’t hear from him by a certain time, then I was to contact you.”

He didn’t make that contact, Ben knew. He had seen to that himself. 

Ben pushed himself up from the wall, pocketing the comm. Too late, far too late he could see the trap now that it had drawn tight around him. His mother’s trace, his contact with Armitage, and now his father’s death. It would all look too neat, like he had been in on the scheme since the start. With the information he knew Kareen could produce, he had no doubt she had already arranged the files she needed to support her story: adjusting dates, recording false holocalls. There was simply nothing he’d be able to do. 

He turned in a daze, stumbling as if he was drunk, heading vaguely away from his office. His ship. That was the only other place he could go. And from there?

“You. Stop.”

Ben lifted his head, his eyes narrowing when he spotted a uniformed officer heading towards him. 

“What are you doing around here?”

Ben slowly took his hands from his pockets, showing he was unarmed. 

“Just...heading home,” he lied. 

A second officer approached then, shining a light into Ben’s face. He snarled as the light smarted his eyes and tried to block it away. 

“Nomi, I think it’s him.”

Ben barely saw the two begin to lower their weapons before he reached out, summoned his newly rediscovered powers and lifted them from their feet. He held them in the air a moment before throwing them clear across the street. They both hit the ground heavily. The commotion caught the attention of the officers still standing guard outside his office, all three of them breaking into a jog. One went to her colleagues, checking them for injuries, while the other two snapped around the corner, blasters already trained on Ben. 

“Freeze!” one shouted. 

Ben grinned at them and swept his hand to one side, casting them aside as easily as he had their colleagues. He looked over towards his office. Kareen was likely still inside with a single officer. Now would be the perfect time to march in there and demand to know why she had done this to him. He could force her to her knees and slowly cut off her air until she was clawing at her own throat, and he would leave her to choke on her lies. 

He took a step towards the building, stopping when he felt a stabbing pain in his side, sudden and unexpected enough to drive him down to one knee. He looked over to see the officer who had checked on her teammates looking down the sight of her blaster at him, ready for another shot if the first hadn’t been enough to take him out. 

Ben pushed himself to his feet, and her finger tightened on the trigger in the same moment. He threw out his hand and his eyes widened in amazement as the bolt halted in mid-air, crackling with energy. He stepped to one side and released it, letting it discharge against the wall behind him. The woman shot again and again and each time Ben deflected the bolts with ease, brushing them away to either side. He approached until he was standing over her and could see her eyes wide with fear. He reached out once more—

Her eyes flicked to the side and Ben shook himself, aware now of the sound of sirens approaching. He turned from her, one hand pressed to the wound in his side, and started back towards the spaceport. There was no use hanging around here, playing with these petty people when he could be doing so much more. 

The wound pulsed and jabbed at him as he tried to hurry along the streets, trying not to draw attention to the slick red blood that was running freely over his hand. He heard a scream, could feel the fear and shock directed towards him, and knew that it was a losing gambit. He needed to move quickly. With a roar, he punched the wound, using the pain to hurry himself along, keeping himself alert and keeping people out of his way. No one wanted to mess with a wounded madman. 

Security at the spaceport tried to stop him and with another snarl he knocked them aside. He limped to his shuttle, feeling the blood loss and the injury more keenly now. Leaving bloody streaks on the closing panel and on the inner walls, he stumbled to the cockpit, all but falling into the pilot’s seat. He started up the engines, prepping the ship for launch, but then the shuttle radio crackled to life. 

“Upsilon Caho Shuttle, shut down your engines. You are not cleared for launch.”

Ben ignored the radio, continuing his preparations. 

“Upsilon Caho Shuttle, please be advised that you are being detained as part of an investigation by local police. Shut down your engines.”

Ben reached over and cut the power to the radio. The control tower was sure to know he’d done it and that their transmissions were no longer being received. The clamps on his shuttle hadn’t been released, so Ben reached out with the Force, wrenching them back. The exertion left him dizzy. He would need medical treatment soon, but he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the chaos that would have caused in the tower. 

As he powered up the engines, preparing to take off, the spaceports external speakers squealed. 

“Upsilon Caho Shuttle, this is your final warning. Shut off your engines and wait to be boarded. Failure to do so will result in force being used against you.”

Ben scoffed. What could they possibly do to harm him now? 

The shuttle jumped from its pad, ascending rapidly into the air above the port. He rarely had to take off so recklessly, but Han had taught him the value of being able to make a quick exit. 

The shuttle rocked as a massive beam of energy blasted past the port side. Ben blinked in surprise. They were actually shooting at him. He took hold of the controls, sending the shuttle into a spin while it was still in atmosphere. As expected, a second shot didn’t come—the gunners assuming his spin to be a loss of control—and Ben took advantage of their lax attitude to straighten up and hit the power again. 

A second blast careened past his windows, dangerously close to hitting his engines. All right, maybe not so lax. Ben threw the shuttle into every evasive maneuver he could think of, but there was only so long he could dodge a barrage of firing. Giving up the game, he aimed the nose upward again and attempted to escape into space. Once he got out of the gravity well, he could jump into hyperspace and they’d never be able to track him. 

The haze of the horizon disappeared as the sounds outside the shuttle began to dim. Almost there, Ben began tapping a quick set of calculations into the computer, a known safe set of coordinates that would take him far from here. But then the shuttle rocked violently and Ben’s world turned red.


	8. Chapter 8

“Easy, easy now. Don’t move so much.”

Ben settled as he felt the weight of hands pressing at his shoulder and hip and struggled to open his eyes. His lashes felt gummy and stuck and he submitted to the wipe of a damp cloth across his face before he tried again. The room is dim and it takes a moment, but Armitage’s face finally faded into focus. 

Ben’s lips part as he tried to speak, but his tongue felt thick and he when he tried to lick his lips, he could taste blood. The cloth returns, dribbling cool water into his parched mouth and Ben lapped at it gratefully. 

“What happened?” he croaked. 

Armitage lay the cloth down, using his fingertips to sweep loose strands of hair from Ben’s face before he answered 

“Quite a lot,” he said, his hand resting on Ben’s cheek as he looked into his eyes. “Are you sure you’re up to hearing it all now?”

Ben nodded. “Tell me.”

“Well, technically, you’re dead.”

Ben frowned at him, maintaining the expression until Armitage expounded on his statement. 

“You were injured and your ship was damaged. Do you remember that much?”

Armitage waited for another nod before he continued. 

“I’m not sure you know just how badly your shuttle was hit. When you were found, it was leaking atmosphere at an alarming rate. Given how much blood you’d lost, I’m not sure you were conscious for long.”

Ben waited as Armitage turned away again, and returned with an icecube in his fingers that he ran along Ben’s lips as he spoke, teasing him with the melting drops. 

“You were rescued—”

“By whom?”

Armitage looked surprised that Ben had asked. 

“By…your people. You knew that, didn’t you?”

Ben didn’t answer, but chased the icecube with his tongue to distract him. 

“As I said, you were rescued—something I’m very grateful for. But your people rigged your shuttle to blow up in the planet’s atmosphere.”

Armitage hesitates, the icecube forgotten as several drops splash down onto Ben’s lips. 

“You’d lost so much blood that there was enough to confirm your identity on the remains. The news channels have been broadcasting news of your death all morning.”

Armitage rolled away and out of Ben’s line of sight, which left Ben to stare at the ceiling of the room he’s in. He was vaguely aware that it looked familiar, but that’s secondary to the news that the holochannels think he’s dead. His mother thinks he’s dead. Everyone. 

He contemplated this information. It would be so easy to have them proved them wrong, to make a holocall to someone else he knows, or even to one of the news channels directly. But he finds himself shying away from the idea. There is a power to be had in this kind of knowledge. The possibility for a new start that few ever have the opportunity to take. 

Armitage returned and Ben could see that he’s wearing his black robe, the last thing he saw him in before he left Arkanis. That’s why the ceiling looks familiar. He was back in the Hux mansion. 

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Where else would you go?”

Armitage slid under the blanket as Ben chewed over the question. He didn’t have a destination in mind when he got back to his shuttle; he’d only been thinking away. He wanted to get that far and then he’d figure out what to do next. 

The silk of Armitage’s robe brushed against his side, and he shuddered, the motion sending bolts of pain shooting from his side. He grimaced and felt Armitage’s hand reach out, stroking gently over the bacta patch that covered his side. Ben sighed under the touch, turning his head to rest of top of Armitage’s hair, soft and bright. 

As they lie there, he felt Armitage’s hand move again, drawing idle circles that gradually move down his abdomen until he is catching small dark hairs around his fingers. Despite his injuries, Ben can feel his body responding to Armitage’s closeness, and he inhaled deeply the scent of Armitage’s shampoo as his fingers begin stroking him to hardness. 

He swelled quickly in Armitage’s skilled grip, and soon is half-hard and his hips twitched with the desire to buck up into his grip. Armitage shifted again beside him, throwing one leg over his thighs to hold him down as he continued with his ministrations. Armitage moved his head, kissing the skin of Ben’s neck before nudging his head as he nibbled the shell of his ear. 

“You asked why I brought you here?” Armitage asked, whispering the words with hot breath. “I brought you here because I was commanded to.”

Ben shuddered as Armitage twisted his hand just so. The robe has slipped apart and Ben can feel Armitage rutting against him, his cock hot and hard against his hip. He moaned as Armitage’s body undulated against his, wanting to feel him closer. 

“I had plans,” Armitage huffed against him. “Grand plans that my father was too stupid to understand.”

Ben tries to buck his body again, wanting to feel the weight of Armitage against him. He is listening to Armitage’s words, knows how important they are, but it’s hard to concentrate against the need rising in him. 

“I had to take control of his company. But I needed resources to do that. I needed power.”

Ben could feel his eyes rolling back in his head at the sheer, raw lust in Armitage’s voice. Ben knows that Armitage desires him, and can feel too through his other senses, that power and control are the things that Armitage is truly weak for—what he would give anything to get. 

“And for what I needed, there was a price: you.”

With a roar, Ben threw out his hand, hauling Armitage from the bed with the Force and holding him over the floor, hands scrabbling at his neck. He should look ridiculous like this, robe hanging open, and cock hard and red and growing even more erect as he hangs in the air. Ben could sob for how he still wanted him, wanted him more even for finding out he was an agent in his destruction. 

The Force was flowing through him like a live wire, making his injuries throb in rhythm with its flow, but he ground his teeth, pulling on the pain to lift his chin and stare down his nose at Armitage. 

“What did you do?”

“What I was ordered to do,” Armitage managed to spit out around his constricting throat, still defiant. 

Ben allowed him to drop in a tangle of limbs to the floor, turning his head to pant, to not show how weakened the display had left him. He needn’t have worried; Armitage is far too busy restoring his own dignity. Ben finally turned to look as he was closing up his robe, hiding away. 

“Are you going to leave?”

“Leave?” Armitage scoffed, affronted. “This is my room.”

Ben lay back down on the bed, pressing one hand to his side. He reached out with the other, beckoning Armitage back. His eyes narrow as he regarded Ben’s hand, but Ben can see the flush of his cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders. He smiled when Armitage climbed back under the covers, tucking himself into the curl of Ben’s arm even as he shifted to climb on top of him. 

The ties of the silk robe are caught between them as Armitage slot his hips against Ben’s and began to rock against them. Both of them still hard. Ben gasped, tightening the arm wrapped around Armitage's back to pull him tight, his other hand relinquishing its place on the bandage to grasp Armitage’s hip, encouraging his rhythm. 

They stare into each others eyes, panted shared breaths. It shouldn’t be anything but awkward, but it was met as a challenge, spurring them both on to their finish. Ben began to lose himself as he felt his climax approaching, and is only distantly aware of Hux’s hand moving with intent. 

“He needed you,” he panted, “and I needed what he could give me.”

“So you used me,” Ben said, sure. 

“I did,” Armitage replied, and his hand twists against the raw wound in his side. The pain jolts through Ben’s body like lightning and he could feel himself tumble over the edge as he comes, his body shaking as the pain drove him to shuddering beneath Armitage’s body. 

“I will have what I want, even if I have to give you up to do it.”

Armitage kissed him with bruising force, the motion of his hips frantic, and Ben can taste blood when he finally gasped out his climax, though he is unsure whether the blood belonged to him or to Armitage. 

The kiss slowed, became indulgent as they both came down from the high, until eventually Armitage rolled to the side, flopping out on the bed beside Ben. He looked down his body, and Ben could hear him tut, and smiled at the thought of his ruined robe. 

“Do I get to meet him?”

“Hmm?” 

“This master of yours.”

“Oh, yes, he insisted on it. As soon as you’re well.”

“I want to do it now.”

Armitage rolled onto his side. He propped himself up on his elbow, looking at Ben for a long moment before he reached out, his hand clearly aiming for Ben’s injured side again. Ben’s hand snapped out and grabbed Armitage’s wrist, tightening his grip until he could almost feel the bones begin to grind. 

“You are clearly not healed yet,” Armitage said, voice steady despite the pain Ben was causing him.

“Arrange it.”

Ben didn’t miss Armitage’s sneer as he released him, lying back on the bed. He ignored his scrutiny as he moved about the room, simply waiting, almost meditating. 

“You’ll need to get cleaned up, dressed.”

Ben tried to slip out of bed, but his injuries and exertion had weakened him, and he stumbled as he tried to stand. Armitage came to his side, supporting him and guiding him to the refresher, and even joining him under the fall of heated water. 

“Concerned about my health?” Ben asked with a roguish smile. 

“Please,” Armitage replied with a roll of his eyes, his hair darkened by the water. “I can hardly hand you over to the Supreme Leader any more injured than you are.”

Ben’s side and groin throb again with the memory of Armitage’s hand. 

“Supreme Leader?”

“His own title. I get the impression he has plans beyond what he has told me.”

Ben could read Armitage’s displeasure with that; he didn’t like to be kept out of the loop, especially when such unseen plans might interfere with his own. 

“Perhaps he will enlighten you.”

His kisses have none of the bitterness in his voice, but are hot and slippery under the falling water. They don’t have time to delay now, Ben knows, but they kiss until they are clinging to each other, bodies eager to chase release again. They parted, Ben looking at Armitage’s reddened lips, and he decided this is how he would meet this ‘Supreme Leader’: with another man’s loyalty on his lips. 

He left the refresher and opened up the wardrobe of clothes that Armitage had offered him before. This time he made a careful selection: tall black boots and soft suede trousers, a shirt with a front that folds across his body several times, leaving a V of deep red fabric framing his chest. The final look is elegant—desirable—but he still felt the lack of a holster, or a clip for his padawan’s lightsaber, more keenly than ever before. 

Armitage dressed quickly beside him, likewise dressing in black and red, but his suit had almost a military cut, his bearing the same. He lead Ben from the bedroom in silence, escorting him to a previously unseen chamber, the walls sleek and black. The room was empty but for a few flickering holo emitters, powered up and waiting to be used. Ben is surprised when Armitage withdraws, leaving him alone. 

Almost as soon as the door closes, the holo emitters flicker to life, projecting a grand throne before him, the figure sitting in it wearing a long flowing robe that fails to be as elegant as the one Armitage wears. The figure—alien, disfigured—smiles to see Ben before him. 

“My boy,” it said.

Ben’s eyes widen as the voice passed through his mind. 

He was sixteen years old and rain was beating down on him, soaking through the thin cotton of his nightclothes. His fellow padawans are around him as he lifted his lightsaber and thumbed the button that brought it to humming life. A voice whispered in his mind: Kill them. And he did. 

“It has been so long.”

Ben had never heard the voice outside of his own mind before, but it sounded no different. 

“You,” he said, the sound coming out as a whisper. “It was you.”

“It was always me,” the figure confirmed, smiling brightly. “I have been looking for you for so long, working so hard to bring you back to me.”

There is movement beside the seated figure, more holo emitters bursting to life as other figures move into view. Ben recognised the others from the spaceport, the ones who supported him as he killed his own father. These must have been the people Armitage was referring to when he mentioned ‘his people.’ A seventh figure came into view and Ben almost didn’t recognise her, the silver of her shimmering gown replaced by the chrome of her own set of armour, a blaster held ready in her arms. 

“Do not be angry with my subordinates,” the figure said, holding up one large hand to forestall any outburst. “They acted on my orders to return you to me, precious child.”

“Why?” Ben asked. 

He felt like he wanted to be in his shuttle again, fleeing from a danger he can only just perceive. There was danger in this room, too, a far greater one that already overwhelmed him, crashing down on him like waves, ready to sweep him under. 

“Why did you do all this?”

“For you, my boy. So you can fulfill your destiny!”

Ben shook his head in confusion. 

“Yours is a great and glorious future, but you can only achieve it with my help.”

“Who are you?”

“I will be your master, a truer one to you than your uncle ever was.”

Ben paused, breathing deeply as he tried to clear his head. The figures standing around him were simply watching, and he sensed no threat from him. The seated figure, though…he was heady with his promises of power, with his grand plans. Perhaps he could teach Ben; he could sense the power coming from him. But fledgling as it was, Ben knew his own power would someday be greater. And then perhaps he could take all this for this own. 

“What do I need to do?” he asked, feeling the question settle a decision within him. 

“Kneel before me, Ben Solo.”

“Ben Solo is dead.”

Ben hadn’t died in the shuttle, but he had died in this moment, when he had chosen a different path. He would need a new name to reflect that. 

“Is he now?” The figure sat back, watching Ben over steepled fingers as he considered him. Ben lifted his head under his scrutiny. Let him see the caliber of person he was dealing with. 

“I am your master,” he said at last, laying his hands on the arms of his throne. “And you will address me as such. Will you be my apprentice?”

Ben slowly lowered himself until one knee was resting on the ground. 

“I will.”

“You will obey my commands as I see fit, accept my lessons and all that comes with them?”

“I shall.”

“Then rise, my apprentice, and tell me your name.”

He rose with a new strength, feeling the weight of his agreement resting on his shoulders like a cape. 

“I am Kylo Ren.”

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to [Gefionne](https://gefionne.tumblr.com/) who stepped in to beta this fic for me. 
> 
> Any shouting at this fic can be directed in the comments below, or to my personal tumblr, [glass-oceans](https://glass-oceans.tumblr.com/)


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